Showing posts with label wall-to-wall carpet. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wall-to-wall carpet. Show all posts

Saturday, April 13, 2013

L ~ Love Me Some Wall-to-Wall Carpet


These are the continuing adventures of a Swedish immigrant during her first year as an American. She boldly went where she'd never gone before...please come along on Adventures in America.

In Sweden, hardwood floors are common, as are area rugs. I don't think they had wall-to-wall carpet in Sweden in 1974. They may today, but my guess is that IF they do, it's not a widespread way of decorating.

I remember my Farmor and Farfar taking great pride in their rugs, and I recall the ritual of taking them out to be shaken, then beating them with the rug beater, which is rather like a tennis racket, though no strings, just that size and with some cross-bars, all made of wood. Maybe they're made of rubber or nylon or something else today, but remember, we're in MY 9 year-old mind this month...So shake, beat, hang. Bring in before dusk.

When we moved to the Cedar Street house in America, I discovered that there was NO WOOD anywhere, carpet everywhere, and linoleum in the bathrooms. (New vocabulary word for me, I suspect.) I loved it.

I have this vague recollection that when we live in Sweden, at the end of the day of playing outside, usually barefoot, The Nutritionist made us wash our feet before we were “allowed” to move about the cabin freely. There were no such worries with wall-to-wall carpet. I remember looking at my feet as I came inside, and thinking, “I just need to walk around a lot and go up and down the stairs several times, and my feet will be clean!”

It worked. I'm not kidding. If you have seriously dirty I-played-outside-all-day feet, just about 15 minutes of being inside would make my feet pass the still required inspection. I NO LONGER HAD TO WASH MY FEET AT THE END OF THE DAY. I don't know why this was a big deal to me, because I'm a fairly hygienic person and have been since childhood. Maybe it was the “cheating” aspect of it. Or maybe it was that no matter where I stepped, nothing stuck to my feet. Like it does in my grown up house with hardwood floors, area rugs, and a “sweeper” who says, “Sure Mom, in a minute!” and then forgets...