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Work in Progress


I’ve always had a thing with colors, patterns, and fabric. I remember when I was four years old, my parents redecorated my room. Burgundy and white. I was so happy. I loved the wallpaper with little burgundy flowers on it. Still to this day I can visualize it all in full detail.




And yesterday my memory didn’t fail me again. My aunt asked me if I was interested in her rug she once made herself. I could still picture it in my mind. I loved it as a child. The rich colors, the pattern. I hadn’t seen it for a while, because she moved the rug to the bedroom. But now she was ready to throw it away. My uncle stopped her just in time. She already had it stuffed into a big garbage bag. Thank God for it, because I was overjoyed when she asked if I was interested. I replied a little bit too eager, I really wanted it so bad. I was already typing an apology for my eagerness, when she WhatsApped me back, ‘Good, then it’s yours now.’

Sometimes when I’m so happy, I just can’t suppress a loud happy squeak. A real girly one. And this was such a moment. I was on my way down to go to the park with Kuzco, so my happy squeak was extremely high pitched followed by a long echo. My feet were jumping fast. One could describe it as Space Biking, but I rather call it the Happy Dance.


So yesterday we picked up the rug. It was rolled up, but I could immediately see, that it was exactly as I remembered. I couldn’t wait to take it home.




When we did, I smiled. Yes! This was it… all the rich colors and pattern. And every color matched our interior. I send a picture to my aunt and uncle, and my uncle replied, ‘as if it always been there.’

I felt so happy. A rug, almost 40 years old, complimenting an interior as if it was brand new. And the best part of it all, it was made by my aunt.






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