Stains

Been cleaning carpets lately.

Carpet soil, I've noticed, comes in three categories:

1. The mistakes you remember--oh, yeah, what was I thinking?
2. The mistakes of others, no idea how or when they happened.
3. The wear of life--too many people walking the same route for too long.

Lately, stains seem darker.  I walk into a room and my eyes are immediately drawn to them
Guess I could avoid looking down but then I'd worry about tripping.

So clean the stain, right?

I've spent a lot of time on my knees doing just that. The results are never satisfactory and only three outcomes can be expected:

1. Nothing.  No brand of cleanser  or any amount of scrubbing will remove it.

2. Yes, the stains fades, maybe to the point where others won't see it.  But YOU know it's there.

3. The stain totally disappears, which is worse. It leaves an overly white border against the background dirt, a constant reminder that something particularly bad happened there.

Seems futile doesn't it?  Like trying to undo time.

                     *                      *                    *
So get a new carpet, silly!
A basic replacement really isn't that expensive.

But everyone who's been there knows how much hassle it is.  You've got to move out the larger pieces, often quite heavy, and turn your life upside down for a day or two.

Easier just to live with stains from the past.


    
So that was my first version of this weird homily, essay, whatever.  Carpet cleaning for dummies, depressed dummies I thought.  Actually tempted to substitute "sins" for "stains" in that last line.
Get a grip!

I really didn't feel that depressed (or guilty) when I wrote it.  Carpets are cleaner now and what else are you going to do when you're at the coast and the sun won't shine?

So I wrote another ending, lighten it up.  From the triple asterisks above consider this "Soprano" ending.

In the perfect Jersey intonations of the late James Gandofini, playing Tony Soprano:

"What're you going to do?"
(with that cosmic shrug best achieved by true Italian-Americans).

Should your name be Christopher Soprano and you hesitate, you might also hear:

"So take out the f-ing carpet!
Get it done."

"Yeah, yeah, Tone, I got that. And basic replacement, well, that's not a problem.
But everyone says it's a hassle. You move out all that heavy shit, you know, then everything is all f-ed up for at least a day or two.
I'm not sayin' I like it, but sometimes you gotta live with your feelings, you know?"

Tony would then say to his nephew, Chris:

"Do I look like your mama? You got feelings, go talk to a shrink--I'll give you a number.  Meantime take care of business--and fuh-ged-about-it."

(Now Tony never exactly said those last three words, but James Gandolfini could convey them with a look.  Good advice, really, but hard to follow)