In my living room we have a small oriental rug. Sam and I purchased it at a bazaar years ago. It was one of our first big buys and it was exciting. The rug is from Afghanistan and we are definitely not the first owners. The color scheme is red and creme and two shades of blue and because the rug is positively ancient, the whole thing is faded six-ways to Sunday. Plus, I have small children and a dog so the poor rug has been put to the test. All of which of course, just makes it more beautiful.
Anyway, around the edges of the rug lies a complicated border. The border, I have been told, is lava. I first found out this startling news when I stepped on it and was told, “Mommy! You’re burning in lava!” Naturally, I jumped out of the border as fast as I could. Soon, talk of the lava had reached far and wide and everyone began carefully stepping over the dangerous terrain. What’s most alarming is that the lava flows around and around the border with no way to curtail its deadly path. The poor dog is forever getting burnt to a crisp and even I have been known to walk right through it unawares. How could I be so careless?
Little did Sam and I know when bought this rug that it would be such an important part of our family. We knew we’d probably have it forever. We didn’t know it would sprout its own lava train.
So be careful if you stop by, because the lava will burn you.