i have a dream.
i dream of a space all for me.
this space will include, but not be limited to the following:
- books.
- windows with pastoral, bucolic, boreal, or oceanic scapes.
- light {of the natural kind}.
- 18th-century desk like this one.

as seen on domino
- typewriter.
- computer.
- quill, parchment, and ink.
- fainting couch.
- fireplace.
- a bosom-enhancing dress with coquettish lace collar.
- an eclectic selection of music ranging from Ulrich Snaush to Frédéric Chopin.
- an enviable collection of port, brandy, and scotch.
- a replenished [by my butler, of course] tray of cheeses, crackers, jams, fruits, petie fours, and chocolates.
- bright blooms of peony and bells of ireland - or an abundance of whatever is in bloom.
- a camera/photography station.
oh how i dream.
in fact, every night as i sit on the side of my bed lotioning my winter skin, i see a collection of pictures from many who also foster this dream for me. a smartly-dressed female on a ladder amidst stacks of books, an owl sitting on an open book, a card that tells me of my dreams...and i sigh, close my eyes, and wish.
and even if it never comes to fruition, at least i have been with my wish every night - and no economy or disappointment can ever take that away.
while we're on the subject,
i also dream of rooms and rooms of books. i think people used to call them librarys and i want one in my home. in my internet wanderings, i have stumbled upon some really dreamy pictures of what i like to call bookrooms.