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Lately, in the mornings, I’ve been staying in bed longer than usual. It’s because I can, of course. But usually the temptation of the morning mail download and my glass of chocolate moo lures me out as soon as I wake up. These days though, the bed just feels so good that I want to stay; so I do, waking slightly, rolling over into a reshuffled cloud of cushioning, and drifting back to sleep.
I’m letting myself enjoy these feelings. An indulgence in luck and fortune. Usually I just feel guilty at the privilege to lie there at 7:30am, unfettered by obligations to move for anyone else. I let myself think, "It’s good to be alive," which is hard to say out loud for some reason. I think because it implies immanent death. A theologian opened her lecture with that statement to my class at Ewha last year. She said a priest she knew repeated it to himself and thought it good to be reminded of that fact often. It helps us all keep perspective I think.
Really, bed is one of my favorite places to be at any given moment. Home base, it is, and I retreat there often when the day wears me out or when I can’t manage some convoluted emotional strain. The bed heals, lifts weight, helps me bear it. Like the black counter tops in labs that suck the heat from hot beakers placed on them.
Our current bed is like a swimming pool or maybe a portal to riding the clouds. King-size, sturdy - un-rockable, firm but so soft. The frame is made from douglas fir logs, harvested as part of the thinning process on managed tree farms. Five inches in diameter, each one is. The bark gone, but the thin skin just underneath preserved with natural wax. Twice a year I wax and buff like I would my car. Big quarter inch bolts secure the sides to the ends. Not only can we not lift it once the mattresses are added, but it doesn’t creak, nor jiggle in the slightest. Solid. You’ve seen inferior examples if you’ve ever visited an Eddie Bauer store, or if you’ve driven south on the Alaskan Way Viaduct along Seattle’s waterfront: There is that lone bed frame with the Chicken & Egg banner dutifully advertising from the roof of the store’s building.
It is big like a swimming pool and I can dive in under the covers, which are so billowy and soft in worn cotton, that it is like being in the clouds. Especially in the mornings, when the bed is to myself. I wake up momentarily when Dave exits, then roll over with his half of the comforter freshly acquired for my wrapping benefit. I can stretch out as far as I can reach in all directions and no limb will droop off an end. Occasionally I like to hang my arm over the cool smooth wood of the lowest horizontal beam at the head. The bed is better than the womb. Seriously. The plush, warm floating feeling the same, but wombs don’t allow its occupants to stretch out completely in all directions.
I like rolling into the comforter, surrounding myself on all sides by sensuous down. It is actually too small for the bed. I invested in it when we were still sleeping on a lumpy futon on the floor. On this bed, it only just covers the top, like a cake whose sides someone neglected to frost. The comforter has been abused anyway. We’re always lying on it, or leaving it in a twisted heap in the center of the bed when we get up, forgetting it until we untangle it at night when we crawl back in. As a result, it’s not so fluffy now. Certain parts are quite fluffy, but they seem always to be at the foot. I want to remedy the situation by investing in a new, king-size comforter. We’ve talked of getting a synthetic because we obviously don’t respect the needs of the organic. If Dave thought about it long enough, he’d oppose down on the basis that animals were harmed in the making of it. But I don’t know if I can go back. It’s the same principle that prevents Alpine Stereo owners from buying any other brand once they’ve had a taste: quality.
When Dave lived in Philadelphia for six months, and I had the bed to myself at all times. I kept three of the pillows positioned in a boxy "n". That way, when I rolled to either side, there was always a soft mound of down to hug between my arms and legs. When I wanted to watch TV, I’d pull the fourth one in and double up the head part of the "n" with the sides like grand armrests. During that time, I slept smack in the middle.
Even with the two of us in it, there is plenty of room. Dave does not present the typical picture of a man with his feet hanging off the end, for the bed is longer than he. We usually sleep close in the middle or more onto one side. There is always room for arms to extend without hanging off the edge. When we sleep apart, it’s a large gap between us that can take a full roll and a half to bridge. It is the perfect dual sleeping arrangement.
Gone are the days when traveling meant superior sleeping. Back in the days of the lumpy futon on the floor, any hotel bed was an improvement and every vacation seemed more luxurious because of it. Nowadays, when we are away we long for our own bed. Hotel beds are always too small - queen size just can’t cut it anymore. We find ourselves bumping into each other or uncomfortable because the boundaries of the mattress are too easily challenged. The blankets are rarely more than two layers of sheets, one of those fuzzy (like a caterpillar) rubber blankets, and a scratchy bed cover that ends up crumpled on the floor. Pillows are like sponges and often too small. Especially in Korea where they are closer kin to rocks than actual pillows. The only exception that keeps popping into my mind is the Salish Lodge at Snoqualmie Falls. That place had down comforters, down pillows, king-size beds - everything and more!
The bed was an excellent purchase, one of my best buying decisions to date. Sometimes people are critical of me for buying such expensive things. Usually I feel misunderstood because the instances when I have forked over huge amounts of cash have always been well thought out and the result has always exceeded what I ever expected. My car gave me 8 years of unswerving, consistent reliability and performance. When I sold it I got above the blue book suggested price for it’s year and mileage because Hondas just go forever. The computer on which I am typing now is almost 4.5 years old and still kicking (though the monitor is getting a little testy on a cold start).
All of this is assuming that there is choice and funds. I mean you take what you can get right? You can’t always get a new car or a giant bed. I would rather go without, go with the minimum, until I can get exactly what I want. I don't like to settle for half-ass. Nothing or minimal is better than mid-range when waiting for what I really want. The satisfaction of having purchased the best, the thing that I most wanted, is one of the highest of highs. And the good feelings just continue for years and years as that material thing continues to serve well. It’s that relief of knowing for certain that I got my money’s worth.
At the time, I forked out more than I had for that bed frame, mattress and various attachments. But I will have it for years and years and years (barring any natural disasters). The daily pleasure experienced by crawling into, then waking up enveloped in the bed and being able to say, "It's good to be alive," is so much more meaningful than the definitions of cost, value, and sensible money management by which people restrict themselves.
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