My Living Room Floor

I’ve been reflecting this week on just how much I love my living room floor. It came about when I asked myself what I would want to quickly grab in the event of a fire, and I realised that this piece of hard floor, with it’s rug in gentle hues of blues and greys, has become the most precious part of my little home.

I’m sitting there now, back up against the sofa, legs crossed before a lap table that holds my computer. I have a well-equipped desk, complete with ergonomic chair, but here on the floor I sit to channel memories and thoughts. My cat, Josie, is on the sofa beside me, looking over my shoulder as though evaluating my words, then reaching out with a paw to touch me on the shoulder and remind me not to bury myself in this other world too long.

My living room is definitely no show-piece. I remember trying to call home many times as a young adult, only to be told, “I can’t talk right now; I have to clean the bathroom.” I vowed that cleaning would never come before living, and the evidence shows that I have remained true to that personal promise!

Over against the T.V. stand are seven boxes of discarded children’s books. No longer needed by other classes at school, I am going through them to determine which would be suitable for my classroom of delayed and reluctant readers, and which will be reboxed, stashed in the back of my car, and donated to PNG Books for Kids.

Behind a few of the boxes is the wooden mini bar. With its two drawers, two doors and storage for more than a dozen bottles of wine, I remember it in pieces, spread out across my living room floor as I sanded and refinished each piece in a mute black.

To one side of the room is a reverse corner, behind which hides the main bedroom. It displays a unique system of shelves that I created. Twenty-one tiny three-shelf units purchased from a local cheap store were assembled in production style on my living room floor. A tetris approach saw me stacking the shelves on their sides along the two angles of that reverse corner until a home for my DVD’s, brass bell collection and a few other oddities emerged.

To the side lies a box and packaging material from the new gas cooker I just bought for my next camping trip. It doesn’t quite block the way to my treadmill or stereo. On the other side, my camping table holds the giant diamond-dot picture I am working on.

Right in the middle of the rug is a space that looks empty but, in fact, is very full. Overflowing with memories and imaginings, that’s the spot where I play with my grandson when he comes to visit. It’s the place where toys are spread out as our joint attention wanders from one play thing to another. It’s the place we sit to snuggle and watch Bluey and eat oreo cookies. It’s the spot that waits hopefully for his next visit.

My living room floor is where I live, and remember living and dream of living. If you ever visit, expect a mess, and don’t bother taking off your shoes.