Thank you for Bed and Safe Sleep
I slept in this morning. I woke up at five, went back to sleep until six, and finally got out of bed at seven.
In the hour between six and seven, I was so comfortable in my soft, clean, downy smelling sheets with the hand made quilt from Barbara (rest in peace, Barbara, and thank you for your beautiful craftsmanship) and my goose down comforter with my fluffy pillow that I curled into a little ball and remembered all the places that I have slept—and tried to sleep—that were not so sweet as this bed I have now.
I was filled with gratitude as I thought about the times I have slept on floors, in cars, in scary rest areas and camp grounds, on a bench at an airport in India, on the desert floor, on the beach, on the ground in the middle of the woods in a wet sleeping bag, I thought about the time when I was a teen aged runaway and slept under an overpass between Tampa and Miami. I thought about scratchy wool blankets from my childhood, about transitional places, motels, tents, about futon frames on cinder blocks, air mattresses on boards, waterbeds that sprung a leak, beds that creaked, and porches with old couches. I thought about beds I have shared and beds where I have slept alone.
I am so thankful for my bed, the comfort of clean, the comfort of safe, the comfort of my very own.
I think of those who do not have a bed or even a place to sleep.
I think of the day I started noticing homeless people sleeping in doorways and on bus stop benches (the days of Ronald Reagan). I think how absolutely lucky I am.
Thank you so much for a wonderful bed to sleep in.