Every season I place a different accent rug by the kitchen door. I don’t know why the heck I do that. It might be because I get bored easily. It might be my ADD needing to be stimulated. It might be my way of acknowledging the ever passing nature of time and season. It could be my weird need for traditions. But whatever the reason, I’ve always done it.
And it’s time to do it again. Summer has gone; It’s time for my autumn rug.
But I’m having a hard time saying goodbye to her.
Just look at her. Ain’t she purty, Melba? (Is it okay if I call you Melba?)
Sure, she’s a little worn, but she screams “Summer!” as loudly as she ever did.
I suppose she doesn’t make much sense in our kitchen, though. We don’t live at the beach. I don’t own a bike, much less a red one, and frankly I would never put a basket on my bike if I DID have one. A moose-shaped bell, probably, but never a silly ol’ basket.
But overlooking all of that, this rug perfectly depicts our life in the summer.
But I don’t want to pull out the autumn rugs yet. I’m not ready for pumpkins and colored leaves and silly ghosts and witches.
And I’ve always hated change.
Mostly because I’m lazy. But also because I’m sickeningly sentimental. And hey, if time passes, that means I’m getting older and my children are getting older, and my mother is getting older and my cats are getting older…. (You’ll note that in none of the above examples, did I use the word “MATURE”) It’s hard, this ever-aging life we lead.
Oh pretty Summer Accent Rug, please don’t leave me! Don’t leave me, my little red bike that is nothing like anything I’ve ever owned! Don’t leave me, pretty little beach and stupid wicker basket!