Not from ikea

A couple weeks ago on a sunday, acting on a tip from an antiquitaire whose shop we were visiting, we drove to Bordeaux-lac, which area hosts an enormous convention center, a building long and narrow, and stretching farther into the horizon than even this sentence. Within the long narrow building, a small portion of its length had been walled off to host a big warehouse-of-antiques event. Dozens and dozens of antiquitaires had set up shop there, a feast for the eyes. Beautiful old furniture in wood and stone, architectural salvage details, plates and accessories abounded. We wandered. We touched stuff. It was fun. One thing we found which we are still considering as a replacement for the light over our front door was this:

which I think is pretty cool. But then I saw a desk. And among all the desks I had seen already in that big space, this was the one I wanted.

Never mind that what we really needed was a table. None of the tables on offer were exactly what we wanted, and exactly what we want is exactly what we plan to wait for. But this desk: this desk was perfect. Gorgeous wood. Supple calfskin top. Legs like chess pieces. Super-deep drawers. Me want.

Me have.

This is the desk installed in our home. Our very first real antique, our first non-ikea, non-stop-gap piece of furniture. One stick at a time, we build our home.

Of course, the desklamp is from ikea. But whatcha gonna do? We did go to ikea this afternoon. And I'm happy to report that we unanimously concluded that at this point, ikea really offers us nothing more that we want. The rest we can wait for. Nice things. One at a time. Like my desk.