adventures in dysthymia

Sunday, December 16, 2012


While recently rereading Maeve Brennan’s stories set in Ireland—and quite excellent stories they are—I noted how often she mentioned linoleum floors. That is something we don’t see much of anymore. Vinyl replaced them, cheaper, prettier, but not as ‘green’ nor as long-lasting. I understand linoleum is making a bit of a comeback.

Anyway, I remember linoleum floors from my own childhood. Not in any of the newer houses in which we lived (we did move a great deal) but in the old farmhouse at what we called the ‘Hill Farm.’

I’ll just mention that in most of the newer Florida homes up into the 60s, the floors were terrazzo. That’s something one doesn’t see much of anymore, either, except in commercial buildings.

But linoleum. It’s odd that linoleum floors are one of my strongest memories of that house. Maybe it was the bright patterns on them. We used it over the wood floors in the bedrooms at the Hill Farm.

There were gaps between the old, rough floor boards and my recollection is that, time after time, my mom would forget to take off her high heels when she came into the rooms and would poke holes through the flooring when heel met gap. I guess rather pointy heels were common at that time, in the mid-to-late 50s, and they were definitely a hazard to our linoleum.

Holes in the linoleum—I reckon that’s the sort of image of I should incorporate into a story of my own.

No comments: