We like our floors. We even personalize them in a carefully chosen wrapping of gleaming wood, sleek tiles, and lush carpet. They can appear unique with a signature touch and offset our decor. But are we aware of just how many times the floor has been there for us? Our foundation is so much more than a nice place to put our feet.
I didn’t experience my first Australian summer until I was 14 years old. I was pleasantly stunned, to say the least. I gaped at that the blazing sunshine in December, and the outside Christmas tree, matching the tinsel-decorated palms in the garden nicely. I marveled at the unusual decadence of seafood accompanying the turkey, and the strange luxury of swimming after lunch, to cool down in the ever present heat.
You see, in England, Christmas was a traditional womb-like festivity, with all gathering around an apple-log fire as it merrily roasted chestnuts. The snow outside made delicate, intricate lace patterns on the picture windows. But mostly, I remember opening presents. It’s not to say that I didn’t welcome the new, golden summer tradition, but there was something cozy about being nestled on the scarlet carpet of my grandmother’s floor. That floor almost participated in the good cheer. I can even remember the swirling patterns. It seemed a character in itself, sitting in a semicircle around the Christmas tree with us, wondering what delights the shiny wrapping paper would reveal. And wasn’t it the very floor that delivered Santa to us?
Years on, I learned about the carnival world of night life. I fell in love with the hypnotic, pounding beat, the genius of spinning, pulsing disco-lights. I would dress up as though I was attending Studio 54, and indulge in wild nights of dancing and drinking luscious, fruit flavored concoctions. Sometimes however, I would indulge in a few too many of those sweet cocktails, and see myself home in a less than-steady-state. And who would catch me when my legs felt the effects of inebriation? The floor, of course. So much so, I sometimes didn’t make it to bed, as the floor beneath me seemed only happy to accommodate, and take on the role as my sleeping place.
After the purchase of our first home, I had the original tiles pulled out to make way for a glossy oak. How I loved the sheen and color of that floor. When the sunlight hit the boards in the morning, it would almost burn a golden amber, as though the floor was lit from within. I was living in a fairy-tale, not because of my floor, but because my fiancé had just asked me to marry him in a rainforest in Fiji. I’d taken on double shifts at work for the following year, and though it was a hectic time, it was full of excitement and expectation of the things to come. During my last night at work, my boss surprised me with a bonus, which was more than welcome, as we were somewhat short of honeymoon funds. I arrived home to open the gift envelope, and saw I’d been bestowed with an extra thousand dollars. After a full year of strenuous work and wedding impatience, I couldn’t believe it was finally here, and I was financially covered. In celebration, I poured myself a glass of champagne at 5:30 that morning, and sat down on my beautiful oak decking, to contemplate the tropical wedding, Mexican beaches, and two months of decadence that lie ahead. I have never had a feeling like it, and I sometimes wonder if that peaceful, celebratory hour on the floor by myself, was not almost as good as living all those things soon after.
We rarely, really stop and contemplate the ground beneath us. Walls are celebrated mostly as a backdrop for the pictures hang on them, exceptional ceilings are known for murals or gargoyles. But the floor supports us in more ways than you can imagine. Premium Floors know everything there is to know about the surface we stand on. They’ve helped many people just like me throughout the years, I’d imagine. When I invested in my gleaming oak, the managing director coined a quote I don’t think I’ll ever forget. ‘The floor should not only be a signature of your taste, but a foundation for your family.’ I somehow knew he meant it as a metaphor, and he was right. The floors in my life have, if I really think about it, acted as a support, and a pathway of things to come.