Someone commented on my living room carpet recently. Rugs are so easily one of those items that you can stop seeing, beneath your notice with its familiar patterns and constant presence. But of course, once pointed out, I had to look down again and notice again the peach-colored swirls and blossoms on top of an azure base. To the best of my memory, my parents bought it when we moved to Spittal in 1995, which means it’s been in a Custer home for 30 years. That also means I’ve lived with it for exactly 20 of those years.
I think of all the times vacuuming it, sweating on it with my dumbbells, playing Stool Pigeon with my small group girls, and watching Pride and Prejudice with 20 other women.
Then I think, “I’m writing a sentimental blog about a carpet. Get back to work!”
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