By Barbara Neal Varma //
Me: “Heading into work.”
Hubby: “Have a good day.”
Me: “You, too!”
And with that I begin my morning commute: walking from our shared home office into the dining room, laptop in one hand, lap blankie in the other. No stoplights or crazy drivers to impede my progress. Only two cats zipping into my hallway lane, trying to steer me to the kitty snacks drawer in the kitchen.
Total travel time: two to four minutes depending on how successful Ginger and Mary Ann are.
For years my husband, Michael, and I shared our home office in relative equanimity. Sure, there were the occasional phone and thermostat wars, but somehow we made it work, because one of the secrets of a happy marriage is knowing when to tune the other out.
Then the pandemic hit.
Then I retired from my day job.
And then in a final blow to world peace and quiet, Zoom calls became a thing.
Suddenly my writing cave became a lot noisier as Michael, occupying the other side of our partners desk, spent much of his workday on camera.
He did use a headset (thank you, honey) to block out the chorus of voices, but I still heard his side of the conversation. One time I actually wrote, “let’s shoot for Wednesday” into my working draft.
Something had to change.
I started looking around the house for a new groovy writing place, even if just temporarily. I decided on the dining room for its view of the patio and because it was distant enough from our office to reduce the Z-noise to acceptable, thinkable levels.
I also liked that if I sat on the side instead of the head of the table, it was easy to imagine it wasn’t a table at all, but a grand royal desk like Queen Elizabeth’s in “The Crown.” (Of course, my version of the queen’s red box is a stationery box covered in sunflowers to hold my power cord and reading glasses with the hot-pink frames. Plus the occasional stealth cookie.)
Best of all, it’s a place to call my own, even if only for a few hours. A satellite writing cave where I could think and write to my secluded heart’s content.
I don’t camp out in the dining room every weekday, just Tuesday through Thursday when Michael’s calls are the most numerous. On those days, we meet up for midmorning or midafternoon walks to stretch out legs, clear our minds, and get to know each other again after the hours-long separation.
Me: “So how’s your day going?”
Michael: “Busy. Three video calls and counting. And you? How are things at the queen’s desk?”
Me: “Jolly good, thank you.”
No calls on my calendar, just the occasional cat in my lap—and I’ll take purring over Zooming any day.
Now if I can only stop ending all my story pitches with “cheerio.”
BARBARA NEAL VARMA is a contributing writer to Orange Coast Magazine and has appeared in other notable publications, including The Atlantic. Her easy-humor personal essays have proven popular with readers, one gaining numerous hits on Orange Coast Magazine‘s website. (Hello: Desperately Seeking Donny.) You can learn more at BarbaraNealVarma.com.
I absolutely enjoyed reading your piece, Barbara! My family can totally relate.