Pink Carpets

My father’s house has a room with pink carpet. Soft, plush pinkness oozes between toes and splashes the walls with more cotton candy color. Aged pink curtains cover two windows and line an entire wall revealing splatters of bright pink roses and faded green vines. This room was created during a time when someone followed some long forgotten trend and perhaps never imagined another marriage. I’ve always thought she left behind her poor taste and Pepto-Bismol styled room as a way to haunt the survivors of her life.

I didn’t think about the pink room on the day the cherry tree in front of my house reached peak. I simply stared at it reaching towards the blackened grey sky with plump pink arms heavy with soft cotton balls. Tender green leaves were hidden beneath decadent pink blooms and I was transfixed within a single moment of nature bursting into focus for even those with heavy lidded eyes to see. It was gloriously spectacular and wondrously perfect and gone by afternoon.

Heavy spring storms wreaked havoc across the suburbs. Dangerous winds swept roofs off businesses, shutters into yards, and sent objects flying to unknown destinations. The beautiful cherry tree, which had unveiled itself that morning, still stood but no longer wore a cover of solid satin bloom. Instead, a pink carpet lay under the tree. Soft petals covered the grass and reached into the driveway. Long fingers of muted color gently hid fresh mulch and scattered under the adjacent dogwood just revealing the white blooms of Easter. This new vision, so different than the morning, was even more stunning. I imagined walking amidst the pink carpet and feeling the softness on tender feet.

Perhaps that is how it felt to have pink carpet installed surely some 30 years ago in a strange house nestled against the panoramic view of the mountain. A carpet to walk on barefoot while dreaming the dreams of the free; a carpet to enjoy while remembering the magnitude of windswept color the softness of fading sunlight going down over white beaches and aqua oceans. A carpet overlooked by some and overdone by others, but for the ones moving along life’s tumultuous straight line winds and lifted by gentle breezes – a carpet representing another view of perfect beauty.

I wonder what my father recalls when he steps into the pink room. I hope he is able to see what I now see. A room that was glorious in a particular time and yet, with a different view remains stunning. A room that contains good memories and glory among the branches and leaves: that was and is a showcase: that is beautiful for those who survive the storms and still view life through rosy pink glasses.