The Conversation Pit: Crazy Lady and I have a habit of doing most things in life ‘backwards’, or ‘differently’. We had kids, then met and fell in love. We raised the kids in 1,100 square foot rentals until they graduated, then we bought a 3,100 square foot home. Instead of exterminating pests around the yard, we make them pets, and while most people eat three meals a day, we eat one. Even our house varies widely from traditional homes. While every other house in town has flat floors, our house has ‘the pit’ (left), which Crazy Lady openly adores, and I definitely don’t.
The pit is a cavernous carpeted conversation crater situated smack in the middle of our living room floor. It’s about eight foot wide (at its widest), nine foot long and almost three foot deep. It sits in front of a brick fireplace that’s fourteen feet wide, sixteen feet tall and has a four foot wide arched fire opening. We were told that the pit was once a hi-end feature of the wealthy back in the 1970s, an apres-ski feature to enjoy brandy and friends in front of a fire. I reckon that it wasn’t the first, or the last stupid idea rich idiots bought into, because some folks have way more money than brains.
I wanted to ‘repurpose’ the pit, but the Sheik of Shriek would have none of that! We’ve certainly had our share of ideas (and suggestions) of how to use it. Everything from filling it with small plastic balls to a fish pond, but my favorite involves a brass pole! I suggested that we could make a few extra bucks by renting it to fit young ladies to work out on, or to practise erotic dancing. Heck, I even generously volunteered to assist the ladies, but all I got was a raised eyebrow and ‘THE’ look. I guess she just doesn’t appreciate my business acumen, artistic vision and willingness to work hard. However, the one thing that the pit does do, and it does it very, very well, is provide a padded play room for toddlers. It’s like a giant carpeted playpen, and kids are always immediately drawn to it. They can jump, fall, tumble and flop, but the pit keeps them safe, unhurt and giggling (and their parents grateful).
Since we’ve lived here, the pit has been used as a recreational facility for vertically and aged challenged humans, to bed down cowboys travelling through town while on the rodeo circuit (our son’s one, so we’ve up to nine cowpokes spreading bedrolls here at once), a trash container for holiday present wrappings, a mean putting green, a sand trap and a police approved ‘drinking and walking’ obstacle course. Someday one of us is bound to tumble into it and get hurt, and then I reckon it will quickly transition from a sealed gate to the netherworld, to what normal people call, ‘floor space’.
Yep, like ‘the pit’, I figure we’re a heap different than most, but that’s okay. We have no desire to ‘keep up with the Jones’, in fact, we find the very expectation to conform insulting. We know that all of the greatest human contributions to society, throughout all of history, were the result of people who were ‘different’. And, on the scale of different, we’re a 10!
The ‘pit’ as it was when we first moved in.
A woodstove, stuffed into the fireplace, ironically was a fire hazard.
The ‘pit’ being used to wrap Christmas presents (before Will ‘remodeled’ the
living room while Cathie was in Edmonton – and yes, without her knowledge)
The ‘pit’ being used as a carpeted garbage pit at Christmas time.
How appropriate to see nuts in a pit owned by nuts!
Vaeda says, “Look out Grandpa, there’s a hole in the floor!”
The ‘pit’ being used by Princess Vaeda as a padded playpen.
Princess Vadea does advanced accounting on her Fisher-Price Abacus
in the ‘pit’, as her father installs her intercarpetental railroad system.
Sir Matthew busily constructing a wooden block
castle and walls to encompass the ‘pit’.
The ‘pit’ makes a comfortable bed to sleep in,
or a place to relax and watch tv from.