Putting the Past to Bed
I am in mourning. Tomorrow I am having a new bed delivered, and my wonderful, super-king, pine goliath of a bed is about to be broken down into pieces and given away. You may detect that I am not altogether thrilled about this.
Am I incredibly grateful that my Nan has been generous enough to buy me a new bed? Absolutely. Am I excited about having a beautifully new king-size sleigh bed which will allow easier access in and out of the room? Most definitely. Am I beyond gutted that this is because the bed I’ve been sleeping like a baby in for the past ten years or so has broken beyond repair? You bet your Egyptian cotton sheets I am.
I love my bed. And I appreciate that most people love their beds. But I really love my bed. It’s huge. And it’s my sanctuary. It is in fact, my favourite place in the world. Ask others about their favourite place in the world and they might mention somewhere they experienced a spiritual awakening, or were proposed to, or where their favourite memories were made: Machu Picchu, Venice’s Bridge of Sighs, the garden swing on the veranda at Grandma’s house. But not me. The first place that comes to mind for me is my bed, and ok, there may have been one or two spiritual awakenings and a few favourite memories made there, but it’s about more than that: I feel completely safe snuggled in the comforting caress of the duvet, with the soporific scent of lavender, and surrounded by the solid, reliable, sturdy and trusted pine scaffold that supports so much more than the literal weight it cradles.
Although not so reliable it seems. The slatted headboard is pretty much in pieces, and so for the past four months I’ve been sleeping with my head the footboard end… And no, the headboard wasn’t broken in the midst of some wild and passionate encounter. Sadly. It has simply dislodged bit by bit since I moved to Bath. Another metaphor for my love life perhaps? Anyway. It’s time for out with the old and in with the new. I just wish I was better at coping with change.
One of my exes, who I remain very good friends with, and who is also a big fan of the mammoth mattress, suggested I had a ceremonial burning of the bed in the garden, “Purge the past and start afresh.” He consequently received my withering raised-eyebrow I-am-not-impressed teacher look, which was in turn met with laughter. Hmph. But I know he’s right.
I’m not going to hold a burning ceremony in the garden. (Though I recall burning a pair of my ex-husband’s pyjamas on a bonfire was immensely satisfying and cathartic…). Instead, I think I’ll donate the pine to my carpenter friend so that it can be recycled into something amazing. Starting afresh. Like I have to.
I’m tempted to keep the bedknobs as a keepsake though. And not because I’m keeping notches in them, as the same ex suggested. Perhaps I’ll burn him instead.