This week's Sunday Scribblings prompt is bed. Of course, there's more than one type of bed.
The wrought iron day bed - All my life, I wanted a wrought-iron day bed. I had rejected dozens before finding the lit de fer that sang to me. But at the last minute, the seller backed out, preferring to lease it for a movie set! So when my friend Gabrielle decided to sell this circa 1870 day bed, I jumped at the chance. The mattress had recently been handmade in the traditional French method.
As it turns out, the idea of this bed was better than the reality. It's so heavy it takes three people to lift it - even though it retains its original castor rollers. In our guest room, the day bed serves as a cozy nook for reading or as an extra bed when a family with young children is visiting. But will it go with us when next we move? Doubtful, due to the difficulty of maneuvering it.
The bed we actually sleep on is a wonderfully-firm Serta queen-sized bed from San Francisco. The only time I've slept on a better mattress was at the St. Francis Hotel in San Francisco. My husband and I had flown non-stop from Paris and my neck was aching from the uncomfortable airplane seats. The moment I reclined on the hotel's "Heavenly" bed, I felt like I was in heaven! Sheer bliss. This inspired me to go to Macy's and buy a "Heavenly" pillow. Even though I would have liked to take all those "Heavenly" accoutrements back to Paris, alas the pillow was the only thing that would fit in the luggage.
Flower beds - When I was growing up in the South, everyone I knew had beautiful flower beds. Both my grandmothers had gorgeous hydrangeas and rosebushes and we always had lovely flowers growing in the yard. These days my parents enjoy cultivating their property with trees, plants, flowers and a waterfall and fish pond.
In Paris, my choices are a little less exotic. But this balcony-grown hydrangea - or hortensia, as the French call it - has bloomed each spring for four years, despite winter frosts, numerous lashings from storms and being doused with toxic sand-blasting chemicals by an over-enthusiastic construction crew. Originally the hydrangea was blue, but acidity in the soil turned its blossoms a bright pink.
My British husband reminded me that in England, a county called Bedfordshire is abbreviated as Beds. And in that county there's a town called Sandy, so the postal address is known as "Sandy, Beds."
Funnily enough, the first thing that came to mind when I read the "bed" prompt was a little poem my daughter Jordana wrote at the age of eight:
Air can go through the moon
in the sky
Air can go through the sun
and the light
Air can go through your hands
and your head
Air can go through your feet
in your bed
Air can go through a pencil
Air can go through a man’s
Air Air Air can go through...
Au lit, les enfants! (Off to bed, children!)