Here’s the deal: Our ranch-style house is completely carpeted but for the kitchen and bathrooms. There is no heat source in the full basement, which stays at or slightly below 50 degrees in the winter, so the floor upstairs stays cold. A nice, thick pad and a plush carpet upstairs is exactly what my skinny old feet appreciate.
It was a pretty good carpet, as cheap carpets go, and came with a fabulous 10-year warranty covering everything except materials and workmanship. It did, however, cover the floor. There was nothing organic about its origin, so it was impervious to everything but fire. It seemed nothing could stain it in the 17 years through which it covered our floors. Only time could end its life in our house. Time and an offhand comment that started the replacement process. It went something like this one evening last fall. Actually, it went exactly like this, except for crying and attempted bribery.
Her: “Do you think it’s time to get new carpet?”
Me: “What on earth for? It’s doing a fine job holding the floor down.”
Her: “Well, just look at those bumps and ridges where it has stretched over the years. It looks shabby, and imagine all the crud and cooties living down in there. Besides, it’s ugly. I never liked it.”
Me: “Ugly? You picked it out!”
Her: “From samples 3,000 miles away in different light and we were in a hurry. I know this is a big deal for you, but I know a place that can replace this with new carpet in one day.”
Me: “I don’t like how this is going. Do you know what a pain it’s going to be to replace all this carpet? We’ll have to pack up all our stuff, move all the furniture out of the house to who knows where, then lug it back in after the new carpet is installed. After that, we can spend what’s left of our lives trying to find all our stuff again. At least in all our previous moves we wound up somewhere else when the dust settled. This time we will pack up, move out, sleep in the car for two nights like an old homeless guy and his bag lady friend, move back in and unpack right here where we started. You know how antsy I get when my nest is messed with. You might have to have me put down before this is over, so maybe you should put our vet on notice. For me she’ll need a mule-size dose, maybe two. And if I go, the dog goes with me.”
I almost feel like I don’t belong here now, as we are suddenly a “shoes off” house. I’ve been in a bunch of them but have never lived in one, and I know a visit to one takes planning. The type of footwear I will try to get out of without looking like a moose on ice as I’m greeting my host is a serious consideration. Skip the high-top lace-ups. I never know if there will be a bootjack in service and it’s a safe bet that many of my highfalutin neighbors never have seen one. No worries with family visits. Boots, shoes, flip-flops, socks, bare feet, it just doesn’t matter. Floors, children and pets are why we have brooms, vacuums and swabs. Mostly children.
There have always been two bootjacks in my home. One for the work boots, cold-weather boots and hunting gear, and another, properly lined unit for removing my favorite dress boots. The former has been positioned by the front door, where it is most likely to be needed, and it will remain there. The fancy latter, however, because of the fancy carpet, should now be relocated to the front door area so I don’t carelessly tromp through the house with my expensive elk, bison or shark boots and smear impeccable taste all over my wife’s new carpet. Can’t have that.
I might also mention that an annoying feature of the pre-fancy-carpet era was the number and volume of squeaks in the floor throughout the house. One did not sneak past a napping housemate without notice, not even the cat. Trying to avoid the high-traffic lanes, while logical, was not helpful, as it required climbing and mountaineering skills not commonly found among octogenarians. Thus the short time between removal of the old carpet and installation of the new allowed a dear friend of mine just enough time to sink a zillion fancy screws into every spot that made the slightest noise. I had the critical task of locating each offending spot on the floor by stepping on it between sips of coffee. Dean would then drive a dozen serious fasteners into the joist below and then we would move on to the next cup. I mean squeak. Thank you, Dean!
The reality is that there are now acres of quiet and cushy new carpet in the house, and so the house rules must change.
“Hi, welcome to our dump with new carpet. Isn’t it great? We’re glad to see you, but could you take off your shoes, please? No, just your shoes, but since you asked, yeah, that’d be great! Lose the socks, too! Heck, take off your feet as well and we’ll carry you over to the couch.”
I’m pretty sure we’ve seen the last of the days of casual drop-ins here at the house and that’s just as well. Someone might trip over a bootjack in the foyer and land nose-first on the other bootjack. There will be crying and sirens and lawsuits and muddy rescue squad boot prints in the new carpet.
We could have just had the old carpet stretched and cleaned. Boom, done! But noooo.
I’d still be unable to sneak by her to get a Moxie from the fridge.
