Carpets are a funny thing. They come in many styles, textures, and color. Some are so soft that we want to curl our toes up in them, while others are rough, just shy of sandpaper.
They are used to wipe our feet, cover the floors of our homes or vans, and to soak up our stains. Many things are done on carpet, but in my family, it’s where we traveled the universe while reading our books.
You want to talk about low man on the totem pole, the younger you were the lower on the furniture you were. Couches were for the older ones. Us younglings were stuck on the floor. We didn’t mind much because it was easier to spread out a newspaper on the floor rather than folding it up in a chair.
Often times we would be laying down, on our stomach with our feet up in the air, or on our backs, arms stretched out, reading a book and being so engulfed in the story that we were lost to the world.
My grandmother gave us this thirst for the written word. It was passed down through her children and we in turn have passed it on to ours. It’s something we craved and something that our parents made sure we had plenty of. Certain things could be lived without but grandma always made sure books was not one of them.