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  • Food poisonings can leave unexpected memories.

    Some years ago I spent a day with Kirsi in Helsinki, capital city of Finland. In the evening we went to dinner in a newly-opened sea-food restaurant, there were all kind of clams and mussels and lobsters and crabs galore.

    So, I enjoyed oysters. And we enjoyed the evening. Few hours later, in the middle of the night, I woke up in hotel room with food poisoning. I spent all night in bathroom, unable to budge from floor. Ceramic tiles felt very cool and comforting against my cheek between the puking fits.

    In the morning I felt somewhat dizzy but decided to follow Kirsi outside thinking fresh air would do me good. Well, marathon seems easier. Half an hour later I found myself sitting out of breath and feeble on a chair inside some store. There had been talk over a year about us needing a carpet to our living room. The old one was next to shreds. And then I saw it, as I sat panting, large wool carpet, hanging on the wall. I knew immediately that it would be ours. No matter the cost. (And it did cost, oh boy. 1000 euros. I was prepared to about one hundred.)

    Okay, I have made some abrupt decisions, time to time, mostly when I have fever or I got a hangover. Both are surprisingly efficient mental states to see things clearly, without distractions. When in fever you see just one thing at a time through a tube sight, all else is blank around. You got tube brains.

    And on that day, in aftermath of food poisoning, I saw through a tube sight this Iranian gabbeh carpet, woven by nomadic people. And I had to get it.

    Never would I have guessed how shoulder-breaking heavy it is, about 40 kilograms. Slippery as an eel when rolled up. But it suits perfectly to our living room once we got it dragged inside.

    Once a year there comes a time to carry it out for snow wash. Face down. This is the day. Snow is the best vitamin and colour boost for wool carpets. Snow and carpet beater. It’s actually absurd that a carpet made in the middle of hot sand loves so much cold snow.

    Well, not so absurd after all. Me, reciprocally, living in middle of cold snow in February love hot sand. It would make me very happy.

    Happiness seems to be contrary thing to the reality.
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