Soul Food Love
Peanut Chicken Stew
Congressional Cookbook: The Junior League and the Congress
Library Desk: Doors and Desks
Sleigh Bed: Texas and Louisianna
Keepsakes: Earth Stars and Sky Stars
Portrait Table: Icebergs and Angels
Battle of Nashville: Slaves and Soldiers
Maid of Honor Portrait: Three Third Grade Bridesmaids and a Sexy Brilliant Woman Priest
Red Dining Room: Table and Chairs
Jubilee Singers with Lavender: Alfred Stieglitz and Fisk
Mirror Portrait Caroline: Caroline and her Portrait
Sofa: Couches and Dreams
Silver Coffee Urn, Saul Martin Portrait: Zelda Sayre and Gatsby
Harlem Chairs: Tammany Hall and Harlem
Tuskegee Wardrobe: Brownies and Smithies
Portrait Chair: Harper Lee and Sigourney
Dear's Ice Cubes
Working Library: Cynara and Windsor, and Hope
Me and My Blog
Fort Pillow Massacre: Nathan Bedford Forrest and Madison Smartt Bell
My Boots: Nancy Sinatra and Roy Rogers
Longpage, 1913: Stephen Stills and Frank Lloyd Wright
Cold Cucumber Soup
Six Cases of Cookbooks: Julia Child and Caroline Williams
Magnolias: Magnolias and Magnolia
Statute of Alexander Pushkin: Pushkin and Othello
Take The Ow Out Of Now: Buddha and Nietzche
Stars and Bars: Stars and Stripes and Stars and Bars
Joan's Nicoise
New York Times Editorial: Copyright and the First Amendment, or Margaret Mitchell and John Seigenthaler
Soul Food Love

    Library Desk: Doors and Desks

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    When I was at Harvard I only knew one white southern boy. He was half a hippy, half a southern aristocrat. As I remember it, he told wonderful stories of growing up in the vicinity of southern writers and he made their homes sound enchanted if complicated. The boy's own parents, if I am remembering correctly, were trust fund babies who went through all of their money then founded a company based on making furniture out of doors and got rich again.
                   I hadn’t thought of my first southern hippy friend in many years until we started moving into our big empty house on Blair Boulevard. Our house was built in 1913 for a single family. Along the way it got turned into five a apartments and five layers of shingles were thrown up on the roof. Two owners before us turned it back into a single family home took off many of the doors and piled them up in the old stone garages.
                    When we moved in, a young friend of mine, Carter Little, who has roots in the South and roots in Chicago, turned one of the old brown varnished doors into the desk in my office and one of the old white painted doors into our kitchen table.
                For the kitchen table Carter built his own saw horses and did everything uber-carefully. He had glass cut to fit over the the wood and provide a smooth service though the door itself was paneled. The kitchen table was very labor intensive and very expensive. And it is very beautiful shining white and very efficient. You can feed ten, roll out dough for unlimited, and plate for twenty on its slick glass surface.
                My desk is different. It's rough with recessed panels. It’s just a refinished door on top of store-bought and hand-stained saw horses but it’s perfect for writing out the bills and perfect, when fitted with stiff fancy English placemates supported by balls of playdough, as a dining table for six. From the desk I look out into an old football field and a constant trickle of traffic and walkers. My mother-in-law teasingly calls our home "the house by the side of the road". We call it Longpage. One day I hope somebody drags that boy whose parents started the furniture store to one of our Bar Blairs. I would love for him to see what his stories inspired.