Do you notice if a rug is missing from your house?

vv 254 Ireland from our cottage

Sometimes life is passing so quickly that you don’t see the small stuff. So when people say, Don’t sweat the small stuff and it’s all small stuff, you literally find yourself overlooking a lot of small stuff. I remember once when the kids were teens, I was making dinner when Mark got home and I asked if he noticed that our hallway rug was gone, and he said, yes, he had noticed that weeks ago. And then we tried to think about how long since it disappeared, but we didn’t know.

When the kids were growing up, there were usually four or five kids staying with us at any given time, some ours, some belonging to other people who didn’t want them, temporarily at least, and there were a number of possible endings to the rug, but as it turned out, someone who had helped us clean the house for some party had given it the toss. She said she rolled it up and took it away as it didn’t look good. And she’d taken the curtains out of one of the rooms at the same time, she pointed out, and didn’t we think the room looked better without them. Well, now that you mention it, maybe, I don’t know.

I would notice a missing painting, art brings light to a room. But, I don’t notice missing clothes or dishes until they’re long gone and then I vaguely remember giving them to the kids.

What it means if you don’t notice a missing rug in your house or the movement of furniture is that you are no longer living completely in your body and in your skin and feeling your surroundings completely. The thing about going on vacation is that if you do it right, you start to notice stuff, you actually feel yourself slowing down a bit, and you notice the coffee foaming when they make your latte, and you see the sheep walking along beside the car; you notice that the lambs have tails and are too old to be nursing.

You listen to Kristen Hersh, “And if I had a daughter, she’d look a lot like me,” and remember how you heard that song all the time your daughter was growing to look more and more like you. And you notice that you’re out of dish soap and you check the peat by the fireplace to see if there’s enough for the evening fire, and you check to see if there’s enough cream for tea, you read through book after book, and you feel the day rise and then darkness finally falls, and the song you’re listening to, coming from far away is like that song at the top of the stairs in “The Dead,” and you notice the rug on the floor, the light sponging out across the heath and the sunshine you’ve brought with you from California resting as lightly as God’s hand on the valley floor.

Published in: on June 6, 2013 at 12:37 pm  Comments (1)  

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One CommentLeave a comment

  1. Reading this just turned my life around, in a single moment, and sheds light on many things… what a gift, thank you.

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