Thirty years ago, my parents were seduced by a new innovation; carpet with the pad attached to it that could be glued to the floor. As I attempt to place vinyl in the rooms that were flooded last month, I'm confronted by one of the unheralded success stories of the seventies, glue that will not come unstuck. So, right now I'm taking a break and reading an Atlantic Magazine article about the Nigerian war between prosperity Christians and sharia Muslims. All I can think is, "Oh, for heaven's sake!"
A half an hour has gone by since I started writing this. I was back downstairs when I realized how creepy the idea of my parents being seduced was, even if it was only by tacky carpet. I've also realized that this whole floor scraping exercise is just that, exercise. Blue collar yoga, as it were. You've got your lunges with the big scraper, and your downward facing dog with the small scraper, and the uncontrollable weeping, I mean sweeping, of course.