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16 Nov 2016
Lizzie and I share a bed. I don't mean she sleeps with me, I mean we literally share the bed. She has it during the day and I get it at night (for those familiar with W.S. .Gilbert shows, we are the Cox and Box of Davis, without pork chops).. I know that for 99.9% reading here this does not sound like a pleasant thing, but I kind of like it. When I crawl onto the couch at night, Lizzie, who has been sleeping there, quietly gets down and goes to make another bed in a chair.
I get my pillow and put it on the couch (there are limits...I don't share my pillow) and crawl under a warm blanket that smells faintly of dog. As I lay there last night, I thought about how weird most people would think it is, but how comfortable I was. My pillow is wonderful. My blanket is soft and warm and best of all, my back is nestled comfortably against the back of the couch and I know that I probably will not wake up with stabbing pains in my back.
But as I lay there, I remembered how nice it was to be sick when I was a kid. My mother was a great nurse for a sick kid. If I had a cold, there would be a paper bag pinned to the side of the bed where I could toss used tissues. If it was a stomach thing, there was a bucket on the floor in case I couldn't make it to the bathroom on time. We had no TV then, so she would go to the library and pick up a pile of books for me to read. Often they included some of her childhood favorites (I still feel guilt that I couldn't get into Kipling's "Kim," which she told me was her favorite book, growing up). I remember the cool hand on my fevered brow and sometimes she would bring me warm milk with melted butter floating on the top, to soothe a cough (I now know that was probably one of the worst things to do, and I didn't really like it but it was love in a warm glass and I remember it fondly).
But the thing I remember most was the crisp sheets. Whenever I got out of bed, she would remake it, smoothing the sheets and making them feel fresh again with those tight military corners. Often there were clean sheets smelling faintly of bleach and feeling cool and smooth under my skin, which was partcularly nice when I had a fever.
(I never heard of thread count until our cousins days, when we had to stop at a Bed, Bath and Beyond en route to my mother's house one time because Kathy had forgotten her pillow and she could not sleep on pillowcases lower than 300 thread count, so I never learned to appreciate bedding other than the normal stuff.)
I only remember feeling that comfy in a strange bed once before. Since I scrunch on couches or chairs when we sleep in hotels because the bed just doesn't work for my back, I can't speak about most hotels. For all I know they may have the same feel, but the only one I still remember fondly (and would move back to today) was a B&B we stayed in in Boston while trying to hide from Jeri before surprising her on her 40th birthday. I can't remember a bed ever that was that comfortable. It also came with free wifi, gourmet breakfasts, and a beautiful golden retriever who woud put his head in your lap as you ate.
Of course that was 10 years ago and for all I know, it is no longer in business (and if it is, given how wonderful it was, I'm sure it is out of our price range!)
I don't think about bedding any more, and Lizzie is very gracious sharing her bed with me, but occasionally, I would love to have crisp sheets to crawl between...and maybe a cool hand on my forehead to check for fever.
Fun with Fours
From my cousin, Donna Niehoff
I just like doing these, no reason at all
OF THE DAY
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