The Hooks' Adventure Continues!: Boxing Day!

I was thrilled to find an antique lap desk when we were in Ashburton. This is an item that has enchanted me for more than two decades: the early version of an ipad, if you will. The concept of a lap desk is that it holds paper, ink, pens, and every accoutrement required for correspondence. Generally the wooden box unfolded to reveal a velvet writing surface -- the optimal surface for older dipped pens (quills, early fountain pens) -- inkpots, penrest, and little storage slots. The velvet serves as a hinge to open the panels that conceal the larger storage bins for paper and envelopes.

This particular lap desk was rather dilapidated: the silver of the inkpots' caps was worn to base metal, the glue had come away from the velvet, meaning that the panels opened freely rather than latching, and (most sadly) there was no key. Further, the ribbon loops that would have been used to open said panels had pulled away, damaging the velvet.

However, I took one look and knew that we could take care of nearly everything with the local skills that I had available in Todi, no problem. The shopowner and I came to a deal that was less than half of the original price...and well below any price I'd ever seen anywhere. Sold!

Once back in Todi, I set off to my local friends to get started on the repairs. First stop: Luciana to talk about the silvering. Could she, in fact, get the tops resilvered well for us? And (the big secret) could she engrave the lids with an F? Because of course, having seen Florence's eyes, it had become apparent early on that this was to be a gift for her.

On the silvering, no problem. Luciana couldn't do the engraving, but reminded me about Paolo, a jeweler down the hill. Off I trotted with the lids, with the instruction that he needed to have them finished by the next morning...Luciana was taking a batch to the silverer that day.

I zipped a few shops down to Daniele and asked him about repairing the glue job with the velvet. He thought that he could get it done, but wanted to see the box before he promised.

As I was hanging out with Roberta at Pianegiani later that day, I got the call from Paolo to say that the engraving was finished. Excellent! I called Jeremy to bring down the box, and went down with Roberta to pick up the lids and to visit Daniele.

The lid pickup went without incident, aside from Paolo's fussing about the fact that I had no key for the box. I asked him if he had ideas for obtaining one, but he was fresh out of ideas. Jeremy had previously told me that his cello teacher knew of a place in Perugia we could get old keys, so I wasn't overly worried. But still, a personal referral to a local wouldn't have hurt.

Down to Daniele's. He oohed and aahed over the box, said he'd never seen anything like it, and got started with a will. He scraped off the old glue carefully, puttered around to put on new rubber cement (I never would have thought of rubber cement, incidentally), and then checked out the box while the glue was drying.

The lack of a key distressed him unutterably. He shook his head. He muttered a few imprecations. He pulled the lock out to see exactly how it worked. At that point, the light bulb above his head flashed on. Rummaging around in a drawer, he fished out a key! It was the right general form (hollow tipped cylindrical shaft), but the blade (I don't know key terminology) was too long. Drat.

Nothing daunted, our buddy pulled out a file and started filing down the key to the correct shape...complaining the whole time that the key itself was too long and not really the right one, but it would be better than no key. About this point, he offered us coffee, which we accepted. His assistant went across the street with the order (coming back a moment later with everything in china and glass, on a tray)...and Daniele lost the file.

We spent about 10 minutes looking for the file. Roberta and I learned several new-to-us cursewords and other picturesque turns of phrase. Giving the file up for lost, Daniele went back to the fabric and glue job.

Luckily, his beer must have sparked his imagination, because he then found the file hiding under the press! Back to filing.

Eventually, after many tries, Daniele decided that the key was ready for prime time. He put the lock back into the box. He tried locking and unlocking using the key (with the box open) and then asked me with a grave expression whether I was willing for him to try it with the box closed. "Why not?" After all, the lock and key seemed to work just fine.

Eureka! We had a working key. Which was admittedly long. At this point, Daniele had spent 2 hours on the box, plus spotted us two coffees.

But, no, he wasn't done with us yet. Holding up his hand, he disappeared into what I had previously thought to be a closet ... turned out to be basement stairs. After a few minutes, during which time Roberta and I raised eyebrows at each other, Daniele emerged...with a shorter, more ornate key. Huh?

Daniele put it in the lock, and it worked the first time! So he gave us both keys.

We had a long discussion about the missing loops, and he recommended a ribbon attached with superglue. He repaired the velvet as best he could, and then we were on our way...having paid nothing and having gained a repaired box, two keys, and two coffees. Go figure.

Just a few steps away, I saw my shoemaker in the street, and inspiration struck! Leather pull tabs! So I showed him the box, told him the story, and explained that I'd like some thin leather scrap. No problem...just send one of the boys over.

The next day, James zipped over and came back with leather the perfect color and thickness...and a mighty generous "scrap" it was, too. I cut the leather to shape and superglued it to the edges.

And today, just over a week later, I picked up the inkpot lids from Luciana!

Florence finally has her lapdesk. Expect lots of letters from her!