Those of you who hang out with me on Facebook know that I’m still in the seemingly-endless pursuit of organizing The Barn. I go in fits and starts with this, but lately my fervor has been renewed. I love an orderly, clean house. I’m just not very good at it. (But I’m getting better!)
For all of my short-comings in the house cleaning arena, I’m pretty good about keeping my bedroom orderly, in part because I love my bed.
I have a grand bed. I think everyone should have a bed so imposing it is reminiscent of a throne.
I bought the bed along with the Beloved Vanity and other pieces a good 8 years ago. The furniture is so big that they couldn’t bring it up the stairs, but had to lift it to the top of the truck and then from there hoist it through the French doors in the master bedroom.
I decided that since I spend a third of my life, more or less, in bed, that bed should be a haven, a sanctuary, a symphony of hedonism. The bed is appointed with luxurious coverings including very high-thread count sheets. There is a mound of pillows that I remove each night, but leave in place for afternoon naps. I love sprawling among the pillows and watching the sun come through the French doors.
I love my bed. It’s king-sized in keeping with my throne desire and I can sprawl all over the thing without body parts hanging off. The animals sometimes join me in the bed, though not regularly. There’s room for all of us.
In the winter time, I love keeping the bedroom cold so that I can burrow in the bed like the cocoon it is. It’s simply delicious to wallow. It’s only when it gets blazing hot outside, as it is now, that my bed is not quite so wonderful. The bed linens are heavy especially so with the goose down-filled comfortor. While I have central air, the construction of the barn is such that cooling the upstairs when it’s 80F at midnight means keeping the downstairs at freezer level. I don’t want to pay Appalachian Electric that much. So, tonight I will lie on top of the covers and let the ceiling fan swirl air over me.
I realize this is a first-world problem and that I have no reason to whine. I’m not whining, not really. I think I’m marking the entrance of Summer to what has been a very strange Spring.