That's my last desk standing against the wall, a simple but elegant chunk of sturdy hardwood destined to hold my yet-to-be-purchased home computer, with a keyboard drawer and ample space to support a large-screen monitor (because nothing fatigues my eyes more than staring at my tiny laptop screen). I hope this will be the last desk I'll ever buy.
The first desk I ever bought sits in the foyer, where it serves as a catch-all for all manner of transient stuff: mail and recyclables, weed-whacker line and earplugs, a whole drawer full of retired camera equipment and another full of CDs and cassette tapes. I bought that desk more than 40 years ago for $20 at a yard sale. It was yellow, but not for long. Our first computer, a clunky beige cube, sat on that desk--we pulled out the center drawer and flipped it upside-down to hold the keyboard. I wrote my Master's thesis at that desk and my husband wrote dozens of seminary papers and early sermons.
When our kids needed desks for their schoolwork and projects, we bought small used desks for their rooms--rudimentary but useful, bought with pocket change at yard sales. Those desks are long gone, as is the big computer desk that sat downstairs. It was a Christmas gift from my in-laws in the early 1990s, arriving as a flat box full of parts that required careful assembly. I wrote my dissertation at that desk and my husband wrote hundreds more sermons, and it followed us on every move until we finally gave it away a few years ago. Too big for the available space and battered after years of heavy use, it was easily the ugliest piece of furniture I've ever owned. But maybe someone else is getting some use out of it now.
At one point we had six desks at home and more in our offices but now we're down to four at home and three at our workplaces, which still seems excessive--but what can I say? I love a good desk. In the early 1990s we bought two desks at once when a local furniture store was going out of business. One of those desks now sits in an awkward space between the living room and kitchen, where it holds note cards, envelopes, gift bags, ribbons, tape, and writing supplies; for a few years the bottom drawer has been stuffed with coloring books, crayons, and markers for the grandkids' use.
The other desk is my favorite to look at but not to sit at, with a cramped and uncomfortable desktop and handy nooks providing display space for our collection of chicken tchotchkes (harking back to the era when my husband's family ran a hatchery). Its upper shelves hold my cookbook collection, and the drawers store more CD's and miscellaneous junk than two people could ever possibly need.
I love the two desks I use on campus, but they're not really mine; at some point I'll clear them out and they'll pass to other people. My new desk will serve my post-retirement needs--as soon as I buy a home computer. More than forty years after my desk-buying journey began, I think I'm finally done.
My first desk, formerly yellow. 
My last desk. 
Desk full of writing supplies. 
The tall desk, attractive but uncomfortable. 
One junk drawer is not enough. 
Coloring books, crayons, markers. 
Just a few of the chicken tchotchkes. 
Another desk, another junk drawer. 
So many cookbooks!
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