The Burgundy Rug

I’m writing from a shutdown so this post may not make sense.

Image found on Facebook

Today has been a day when I would rather not post on my blog. It’s one of those days when I would rather hide and only speak when spoken to. I don’t want to let myself down and fail at a goal I have set for myself. I said I would post every day in July and I already did a wordless post yesterday.

Today I’ve had a meltdown, followed by a guilt ridden shutdown. I then slept because I was so drained. I needed to try to process but wasn’t able to. I woke up and got emotional and was not able to filter. I was not able to understand what was truth and what was misplaced emotion, everything seemed merged. Luckily a close friend was able to talk me through and help me with this.

I think one of the worst things about Aspergers is the not knowing. Not being able to control thought, feeling and reaction then thinking your mind is out of control. Not being able to prioritise and only having one thought constantly looping. Obsessing about simple things that no one else is even aware of. The only thing that seems to slow down my thinking is to distract. For me that comes in creativity, imagination and visual stimulation.

My friend Jo from over at MumtoJ posted this image

I saw this earlier and it triggered off a lot of happy memories for me.

I decided to go to a safe place and distract how I have been feeling today.

I lost myself in memories and wrote down the best I could from my shutdown. It helped me to slow down my looping.

Sorry, I know I get on people’s nerves when I can’t process because I babble myself round in circles with what seems unimportant to others. This post has no point at all apart from me trying to push past a fear and help myself to think clearly again.

Love and hugs. xx 🙂

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The Burgundy Rug

As I ran my fingers through the long burgundy fibres I felt such pleasure, release, fun, adventure and an inner peace too. I lay full length on my Great Granny’s rug, looking up at what was around me, digging my fingers into the texture wiggling them around and following each strand to its base. Such a tiny child I was with so many habits that annoyed so many people. But not here, not in this place. I rolled over and lay stretched out on my stomach rubbing my face and palms into the pile, then raising my head looking to see if an imprint was detectable. I can still remember the smell of that burgundy rug, I can feel it to this day like it lives inside my skin. All the fun it held for me, but mostly it felt safe. It was comfort and I knew it was always there.

“Lisa, make sure you brush the rug when you finish your game.”

I’m smiling at those words and thinking back on happy memories of my lovely old Great Gran. I can see her sat in her high back chair. A short stocky lady with black curled hair, clip on earrings and wearing her green crimplene over dress.

Joey the bright yellow budgerigar had his cage to the left of her chair. The cage was on a stand with one of those plastic elasticated seed collectors around the bottom to catch any lose millet. My Nanny Poorly-leg (as I called her) was very house proud, but this want for perfection never was as important as her family.

Joey was seldom in his cage he was always perched on my Great Grandad’s shoulder, like a pirates parrot pecking at his ear. My Great Grandad, such a quiet gentleman. I see him now in the kitchen making his famous brew, always tea leaves never bags. The strongest cup of tea one could ever taste, bright orange it was and so very sweet with a slight taste of cigarette smoke, always in a fine bone china cup.

He was never without an unfiltered hanging from his lips. Chain smoker he was dressed in his long Johns, the old fashioned type with the button up flap at the back. His brown chino trousers with braces, no shirt while in the house just his top from his all in one underwear. He’d be chatting away, cigarette stuck in the corner of his mouth, “Pretty Joey, who’s a pretty boy then?” I really don’t remember him talking much more than that, but he did love his roses and I do remember him letting me spray them. He would very often have the next ciggie resting behind his ear ready to light off the present one once it was used up. Funny the things that stick in your mind.

She couldn’t walk very well my Great Gran, I didn’t understand why, I was so young. She had one leg slightly longer than the other and always had a limp. She had been very ill as a child and wasn’t able to attend school. I remember her telling me she was so tiny when she was born they could fit her in a pint glass. I don’t know if this was true but I would listen to her stories and gaze at how long her ears were. People’s ears get so long with age it’s something I still notice now.

She would regularly show me the cut on her tongue that she got from trying to eat a piece of glass as a kid. This used to gross me out awfully and I really didn’t want to see it. It was almost as bad as my great Aunt Barbara flipping her false teeth around in her mouth trying to make me laugh. Gran told me she thought the glass was toffee that had fallen off the toffee apples her Mom had made. I can’t remember why she wasn’t allowed to eat them and picked up a piece of glass off the floor. It might just have been that her mom made them to earn some pennies. I don’t know, I can’t remember and I can’t ask anyone now. I know that my Great Granny was born the daughter of a lock keeper and there was Irish gypsy blood in her line. So many questions I have now and wish I could sit and chat and find some answers.

I loved going to my Great Granny’s bungalow I have such a clear picture of each room. The living room was my favourite. The china cabinet in the right hand corner, filled with all my Granny’s special crocks. The solid oak sideboard under the window with the wind up wooden clock, it’s chime I still recognise taking me back in time. Her beautiful burgundy rug by the fireplace ready for all my stories and playtime. Also that wonderful oval shaped, flamenco dancer coffee table with its thin black legs and glass top.

My fingers was my game they were my toys, my puppets. The burgundy rug was my canvas and stage for so many wonderful imaginings. The pile was so deep I could draw on its fibres. Wavy lines became rivers, the seaside or secret pathways filled with magical adventures. My finger people did the walking, my mind did the talking and my Nanny Poorly-leg sat and watched. She smiled, never disturbed me and loved me just the way I was. I just needed to remember to brush the rug when I had finished my game.

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8 thoughts on “The Burgundy Rug

  1. Lisa, we all have our ways of processing, trying to make sense out of the senseless, needing to find a quiet place, trying to shut out the repetitive whir of by gone words and actions. This is just your way, and it’s a beautiful way, nothing to apologize for. I enjoyed “The Burgundy Rug” and I’m glad it was this you chose to share. It reminds me of my grandma, and she was the loveliest person I ever knew. Thank you. Blessings to you and your family.

  2. I loved reading the Burgundy Rug. Nothing to apologize for, you don’t get on people’s nerves. Love you loads my friend xxx

    • Thank you my lovely friend, I’m so glad you enjoyed my post. Thank you for sharing your photo and helping me remember.
      I love you loads Jo. Lees. xxx 🙂

  3. I’m glad you talked about your feelings, and glad you were inspired by the photo, and shared with us the burgundy rug. I can picture your granddad with the bird….and the cut tongue. Thank you for sharing your memories. They are precious, especially in the way you tell them.

    • Thank you my lovely friend, you are so very cute. I love that you comment even though I have told you all about my posts before I post them. Such a lovely friend you are. You make my heart smile. xxx 🙂 ❤

  4. Pingback: I like lists, I learn from lists | Missing Jigsaws & Excess Lego

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