The next set of magnets is from the fridge of my brother-in-law and his wife.
(I like my brother-in-law's refrigerator!)
* NEW *
Someone suggested I add a discussion board, so I have.
If you have anything to discuss, go to this link. Feel free to start a new discussion on anything.
I'm gone--but you guys chat amongst yourselves, please!
I enjoyed his Australia book so much, I decided to try the one about this country.
WHAT I'M WATCHING...
That's it for today!
BEV SLEPT HERE...
30 May 2001
It was nine feet high and six feet
Words and Music by Jim Connor
My sister and I shared a bedroom when we were growing up. We had twin beds with a desk/table my father made that sat between them. My bed was on the right side of the room and the light from the street lamp came through the window. I found that light very comforting. My mother was always making sure the curtains were tightly closed so people walking down the street couldnít look in the window and see children asleep. I would crack the curtains open a bit so that the light fell on my face. It kept the monsters that lived in the room away and I slept safely.
There were snakes under the bed. I never actually saw them, but I could not set foot out of the bed directly on the floor. I had to kind of leap out into the middle of the room to prevent the snakes, who were lying in wait, from lunging forward to grab hold of my ankles.
In the mornings, when we were little, and when my father didnít have to sleep late (he worked nights), or when he was out of town, we loved going into our parents bed. They had a wonderful satin-covered feather comforter that I called "flufty-wufty." I loved to wrap up in the comforter. When I became an adult and moved into my own apartment, my mother gave it to me. It was a wonderful thing to have until the morning when years of use took their toll and the satin finally gave up. I woke up to discover that my bed was full of feathers. It was like waking up in a henhouse.
From time to time I would spend nights with my grandparents. They lived most of their married life in a no-bedroom apartment. It had a living room and a dining room, each with a Murphy bed that folded into the wall, a kitchen and a bathroom. At night, we would move the furniture out of the way and take the beds down from the wall. My grandparents slept in separate beds. They had ever since my father was born and my grandmother declared that would never happen again.
I didnít much like my grandmother, but I loved her bed. By ergonomic standards it was a terrible bed. It was a thin mattress on bare wire springs and she had slept in it for so many years that there was a permanent indentation in the middle. When you got into the bed your body just naturally rolled toward the middle and curled up in the dent in the mattress. But I loved it. Again, it made me feel cuddled and safe. I didnít much like sharing it with my grandmother, but I loved being able to curl up in that dent in the mattress all by myself.
Throughout my adult life, and especially in the last 10-15 years or so, I have had a difficult time with beds. I suppose itís a function of the abuse my spine takes from having to carry around all this weight. In most beds, I wake up after a few hours with stabbing pains in my back and no way I can get back to sleep. Walt has tried to get me to figure out what constitutes a good bed--a hard mattress or a soft one. In truth, that doesnít seem to enter into the equation.
We have a bed in our guest room which has a soft, thin mattress, with no real box spring to speak of. Yet itís very comfortable. My friends Mike and Bill had a guest room with a bed that has a very firm mattress and box spring and I sleep like a baby in it. My friend Diane has a bed which seems to be not exactly firm, not exactly soft, but just right (I sound like Goldilocks). I spent some of my best nights in that bed. Go figure.
When we go on vacation, I groan at the thought of what the motel beds will be like. The bed we had our first 2 nights in London really wasnít all that bad. It had a firm mattress and I slept like a log. Of course I was also exhausted each night, which might be a part of the equation.
The bed on the boat was too narrow, though felt comfortable. Still, I would wake up at 2 or 3 a.m. each morning and drag my duvet out to the lounge, where I would sit in one of the chairs there, wrapped up with my head resting against the window and my feet stuck out into the lounge and hope that I could get a couple more hours of sleep. Some nights I could.
When we got to the hotel in London, where we spent five nights, the bed was very high and very firm and I knew I was in trouble. Especially since the headboard banged against the wall whenever you breathed (after the first night, Walt would jam a pillow between the mattress and the headboard to try to minimize the noise). The first night was the worst night Iíve ever spent anywhere. I was in tears by 3 a.m., with nowhere to go, no place to even sit. It got better, but it was definitely not my favorite place to sleep in London.
The mattress on what Walt refers to as "the bed that used to be ours" is a posturpedic and supposedly one of the best around. But it absolutely kills my back. I used to start out asleep in the bed and then around 2 or 3 a.m. would stagger downstairs to finish the night in the reclining chair. About a year ago, I just gave up entirely. I can sleep the whole night in the recliner and awake refreshed and without any back pains.
I suppose I have to resign myself to never knowing how my back is going to react to a bed. Weíve talked about getting a new mattress, but the mattress we have is fine other than that it kills my back--and thereís apparently no guarantee that any other mattress will be good or bad for my back.
Until I can find a store that will let me spend the night in the showroom, I suppose thereís no point in laying out big bucks for a new mattress when the recliner and I have bonded so wonderfully.
Some pictures from this
Created 5/30/01 by Bev Sykes