Flooring
My parents traveled several hours each way to visit family. We lived in northern Wyoming, where the nearest town would be 45 minutes away by car, and a real shopping center two to four hours away. I knew families whose children stayed in the area, but most children grew up and moved away, far away. School outings were also long; swim meets, the nearby ones, were an hour each way. I was on the speech team, reciting poetry and drama excerpts. The team traveled every couple weeks during the winter, hours and hours, with an overnight stay and occasionally two nights in a hotel.
My parents did not stay in hotels. They knew people all over. I remember a cousin, Vance Christiansen; we curled up in blankets on his carpeted basement floor. He had a nice split-level home, a later model than my parents’ 1900 era home. On another occasion we slept on the carpeted floor of my sister’s dorm room. I think my parents may have stayed at someone else’s home, but my little sister and I enjoyed our big sister’s roommates and they thought we were cute. I was all of about four years old, and my little sister was three years younger.
The biggest thing I remember about those early visits was the carpet. My parents did not have wall-to-wall carpet. There were rugs at the front and back doors, but those were functional, not for appearance. Everywhere else was wood plank flooring, painted light blue in my bedroom, polished wood in the living and dining room. The kitchen had linoleum; it didn’t stand out to me, some light color without a memorable pattern. The laundry room had linoleum that I do remember, mainly because it covered the basement door, a long rectangular door, very, very heavy, that opened to reveal concrete steps down to the dirt-and-concrete basement. It was white with a pattern that included red squares, and black lines, I think, nearly indestructible but chipped around the edges of the basement door, which it also covered. Never did that linoleum peel or buckle. It was solid.
Astroturf was my mom’s choice for the mat outside the door. I have a love-hate relationship with Astroturf. It feels interesting on bare feet, when I’m expecting it, sort of therapeutic. It feels shockingly uncomfortable when unexpected. I stopped going barefoot as an adult, but as a child sandals were my preference because of sensory overload. I didn’t have terminology to describe it, but the soles of my feet input so much information that covering them reduces my mental load. It helped that the sandals I owned were black and royal blue colored flip-flops, with sturdy blue and black straps. I love bright, jewel colors, and aside from the heat-absorbing black top surfaces, those sandals were awesome.
