The Rug

A decade or so ago, a neighbor spotted a rug in an Oriental motif curbside. She got rid of the smell of cat urine, cleaned it up, then discovered she had no use for it. I did because the dining room carpet had been there for so long it had worn down to the rubber backing. It was already old when I moved in and I never had the money to buy anything to replace it. I put down the Oriental rug to cover the worst of of the spots.

Later, Gary and his nephew painted the dining room, tore up the old carpeting and replaced it with a bigger rug from his home in Menasha with linoleum tiles along the edge.

He moved the Oriental-like rug into my office and for a while, it was under my rolling chair. That constant wear didn't seem to be a good idea to Gary so he replaced the rug with a sheet of plastic to protect the floor. The rug went into my bedroom.

Rugs are one of the dangers to the elderly. I found myself tripping over that rug and after a couple of tumbles decided it was time to put it curbside. It didn't stay there for even an hour before packrat Gary rescued it. He would put it in the storage unit he said.

Last night, I went into the bathroom here in this Illinois farmhouse and tripped over the rug. He had brought the darned thing all the way from Wisconsin.

The idea of these trips to the farmhouse was to get it ready to sell. I took a look around and realized that Gary is throwing things out but he is bringing as many things in. I now understand that selling this place next year may not be possible.

The hoarding continues. I can't win. I may have to rent a storage unit of my own and move in.