Painting Fail

Oops. I spoke too soon last eve. Everything had looked so much better with a couple coats of whitish paint.

This was before the mishap this aft that saw the floor reverting. And while I can't blame the raccoon, I would like to try. Its presence this morn and its refusal to leave, even though the rain had ended, was the beginning of one disaster-of-a-day.  I have no idea why this particular coon thinks that spending daylight hours dozing on window ledges INSIDE my house is its cup of tea. But apparently, it is.

While moving around furniture, clothing and the detritus of a life spent far too long in one spot, I once again was given a chance to admire the writing desk I grew up with as a child, not using it, but it was in my room, and as the writer in my family, I inherited it when there came a settling of accounts.

The knob is different from when I was a child and I don't think the desk top portion stays open along a flat plane, the chain that used to hold it in place having disappeared or been broken long ago.

Interestingly, someone saw this and said that they had one just like it only their desk had a buffet-style mirror that sat on the upper shelf and was tall and elegant. I wondered where such an accoutrement might have disappeared to and only today, realized that nothing fitted on the top shelf. If something had, there never would have been the beveled oval mirror.

The raised detail centre front is lovely, isn't it? And don't worry about the electrical tape. It's there just to
prevent the door from opening when moving the item hither and thither.