now that winter. . . – barb emerson

HA! has at last reared its gorgeous white head and we all feel a bit more wintery, I decided to delve into recent history to document my sojourn in this rather amazing space. When I moved in I had a crippled cat, the walls were pink and the carpet was brown. Those issues have all been remedied now.

Brown carpet, though unforgivable, is understandable. Most dirt is from the Browntone Family, so it doesn’t show itself readily on brown flooring, which is probably a landlord’s aim. But Brown. If I never had to see this absurd color again, I would be happy. I am eternally grateful that snow is not brown. Neither is spring.

The walls? I think the intention was to paint them taupe, but taupe is a tricky one. It can easily lean in many directions from orange to purple to, in this case, pink. Every wall was painted this pathetic pink. Had it been rose or petal pink, I’d have willingly paired my reds, maroons, blacks and rusts with it. But it was so mournful. It was sorry to even exist. Poor Pink, mistaken for taupe.

But it’s better than Pickled.

Pickled. Not quite wood. Not quite paint. Kind of can’t make up its 65-year-old mind.

The woodwork was pickled. The pickled wood fashion has come and gone several times during the 70-odd years this building has existed. I didn’t like it any of those times. It’s when you take the warmth of wood and wash it out with some white stuff that makes it look like it’s been in a pickle jar for eons. I’m not a fan,

Then there was the carpet. Every time I walked from the living room into the hall leading to bedrooms and bath, I could feel a tiny transition in the floor under the carpet and pad. Yes, I have Princess Toes. They could feel a pea under a carpet, apparently. I knew that this transition probably held a secret stash of hardwood flooring.

Now, I’m all about cozy and hygge, but for some reason the flooring industry is lagging in its pursuit of innovative materials for contact with the bottoms of our feet. No one seems capable or willing to invent something that’s cleanable(!), removable, attractive and durable.

Carpet? Under which there’s a room-sized sponge soaking up every dust particle, microscopic critter and drop of liquid, including bodily fluids, that ever come in contact with the floor from now until tear-out. What ARE you thinking? Let’s save ALL the disgusting spills for the next 25 years so we can smell them while they decompose. I guess that’s why Glade was invented.

So, in the winter of 2016 starting cautiously with a tiny corner in the hallway between the bedrooms, I tore out all the carpet and its accompanying sponge. Out! Out! Damn sponge. I took pictures but the )*A&)#(*$ camera I was using bit the dust and its pictures went with it. I checked all of the numerous (50?) SD cards I could find in both houses and my vehicle and nothing turned up. Alas, my colorful descriptions will have to suffice.

Utility knife. Check. Pry bar. Check. LARGE garbage bags. Check. Off we go, cutting the carpet, woven in an endless loop which comes apart like one long ramen noodle and refuses to be cut by even the sharpest of utility knives. Annoying. But still fun. Along the walls are nail strips that pop off with the pry bar. But THEN the nightmare staples.

Dear Flooring Guys,
Do you honestly think that the weird speckled foam stuff that you put under carpet is going to grow Lit-Tle Foam Feet and run away from home? Do you think that three staples per inch are necessary to hold it in place? Did you expect that Jave Baez would be practicing base sliding throughout this apartment?

Staplesstaplesstaplesstaples. All over. Stuck into the beautiful oak floors. I have no idea what Ann and Kory downstairs thought I was doing, but eventually, I removed every stitch of carpet and threw it onto the balcony outside. It eventually found a home in the dumpster out back. Yay.

The staple holes add character.

The Living Room floor however, was made of plywood.