His feet felt the surface of the carpet, not particularly noticeable normally, but there was white powder all over it. Green shag peeked out of the powder like random blades of green overcoming their struggle of the winter snow, breaking free in worship of a cold sun. Every step he took impacted the white powder down and Rog wondered if it was really safe to be walking upon this surface, but there was no other way to move forward.
His father sat at the kitchen table at end of the powdered expanse, "Your mother is deodorizing the carpet again with baking soda. Says that will get the smell out."
Rog was now standing at the table looking at this man, so familiar, so alien at the same time, "What smell?"
His father looked up from the newspaper he was reading, glasses sliding down on his nose with the motion, "Rogue."
Rogue? But Rogue was gone. How could that be? Rog had held the dying canine's body as it expired from a life well-lived, well-loved. That had been more than five year's ago.
But before he could contemplate this more or how it could be that he was standing on a rug that had ceased to exist about the time when his boyhood did the same, Rogue came trotting out from another room and began leaping at Rog to be picked up. It was a reunion of happiness and pure love between the two. As Rogue, a name that signified he was Rog's dog, squirmed in his arms with joyful enthusiasm, Rog breathed in the scent of dog fur. The scent was actually a lemony smell. Rather than using commercial flea powder, every morning he had sprayed Rogue with a concoction of lemon and water to combat the hordes of black spotted vampires. It meant cutting a fresh lemon into quarters and pouring boiling water over them and letting the combination sit overnight.
"Have a seat and join me for a cup of coffee. We have a lot to talk about."
As he sat down in the old kitchen chair from his boyhood, allowing the rat terrier to settle into his lap, he found a cup of coffee in front of him. It was black and there were no options of processed sugar or artificial creamer. Rather, he saw, laid out was a bowl of organic sugar and a small pitcher of milk. Sniffing it, he realized it was soy milk. Oh, what the heck, he said to himself pouring a little into the dark brew he was about to bring to his lips. If Rogue is alive, the carpet is green shag, and Mom is doing what Joan has been advocating, then he could try the soy milk. Hmm. Mom in the organic world. Now there was a strange thought. With all her paints, thinners, and cleaners, it seemed like a contradiction or even hypocritical. As he sipped the coffee, perfect as a mild day on the beach, he also realized the coffee was organic. There was no chemical after taste, low acidity, and a smoothness uncommon from the average grocery store variety. He knew his coffee. Time in the coffee shop had taught him well and this was an excellent brew.
"So what do you want to talk about?" he asked the older man, noticing now that his father's reading material was a newspaper announcing D-Day.
His father took a quick sip of coffee and nonchalantly replied, "You need to decide if you want to stay here or wake up."
Environmental References Used in this posting:
H0w to Green Your Cleaning
Farewell to Fleas
How to Green Coffee And Teas
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