Keeping tabs on Okinawa's carpet keepers

Editor's note: Tammy suggested that I post my weekly military spouse column on the blog. Here is my latest installment. I may post more over the next week. Just a note, the Wichita Falls Times Record News owns this content, blah, blah, and legal jargon, blah, blah. Enough said.

I nearly fell out of my chair. Not that a tumble would have been all bad. At least my head would have landed on a plush Persian rug.

This weekend a friend invited me to attend a rug auction fundraiser. I delighted in the chance to play Middle Eastern shopper for the afternoon, even if I didn't buy anything. Sure a eight feet by 10 feet Pakistan black wool rug would complement our hardwood-floored home. But we simply aren't fancy enough for Oriental or Persian ownership. Red wine and barbecue sauce stains wouldn't blend in with a pink Chinese floral carpet at my house.

Regardless of my inability to purchase I picked up an auction number. One never knows when auction fever might infect your paddle-raising hand. A girl has to be prepared. But I didn't catch the fever last Saturday. I was diagnosed with sticker shock.

The first rug on the auction block was white super fine Isfahan from Pakistan. The starting bid? $4,000. This is where my head nearly hit the floor.

Instead my eyes bugged open and my jaw dropped. $4,000? They couldn't be serious. Maybe the store owner and the auctioneer had a misunderstanding. Or a yen exchange rate snafu. Surely something a human walks on couldn't cost more than my car.

The auctioneer started to defend the opening bid saying "This rug retails for $12,000. That's right, folks, if you went to the store, you would pay $12,000. Today, and today only, the bids start at $4,000."

When you put it in that perspective $4,000 is a steal. This same reasoning almost caused me to raise my arm for rugs that ranged in price from $600 to $1,200. Compared to $4,000, a $600 red wool rug from Afghanistan is a bargain bin special. I'm sure my husband would see it that way too.

At this fundraiser I discovered a subculture of Americans living in Okinawa. Before Saturday I believed that American service members and their families could be broken down into three general groups: body builders, Bible readers or beer drinkers. So far my husband and I haven't found a particular niche group for us.

Maybe this was it. Maybe we would become rug aficionados.

These carpet keepers, as I like to call them, spend their weekends rubbing their hands over wool and silk. They debate the cost returns of vegetable versus synthetic dyes. They smile with delight upon hearing the words "double knot." They swap statistics about knots per square inch. They flip a carpet to expose its backside and aren't afraid to make a snap judgment based on this view. They turn up their noses at most rugs I would sell a kidney to buy.

At Saturday's auction I attempted to join my new social group. During a bidding break, I made a joke to a serious bidder about Aladdin flying away with a red runner on display. He didn't laugh.

Rug aficionados don't laugh at my Disney jokes. They laugh at those of us who would dare buy a machine stitched Persian knock off. They are disappointed with my lack of understanding that a rug is a piece of art. They see these rugs as an investment into a family heirloom. I see it as a way to cover the floor.

Near the end of the auction, a 100 percent wool prayer rug was held up. The starting bid was $600. It was pretty, but not exquisite enough for the carpet keepers. Without any bids this rug would return to the showroom. It broke my heart that no one bid on that rug, I whispered to my friend.

"Why didn't you buy it?" she said.

"I don't have $600," I said.

"You want a bookshelf at the furniture store that costs $600. You have the money, it is just a matter of what you want to spend it on."

Point taken. The reality was I didn't want to invest into the life of a rug aficionado. I choose to remain a black sheep, an outsider to this world. At least in my world, my jokes are funny.