I have to get up to teach a class in Ohio tomorrow. I will do it from my dining table here on the west coast. This will be brief, then.
A. was over for dinner and over stir fry and veggies and an Oregon Pinot Noir, we talked about every imaginable thing. He makes me laugh. I appreciate that. I cried, too, and I appreicate that, even though it was only a few tears. I am glad to be alive. It's that simple.
Now I am off to bed. Houseguests from the east coast were visiting this weekend and when they went into my room, they said, "THIS is where you sleep?" It's a pleasant room, coral colored with only a little furniture besides the two shrines. I said, "It is. What do you mean?" "The bed is so... small.." they said. "It has only one thin blanket."
It's true. But this sliver of a bed with the thin, brown blanket, sewn with brown thread is a palace of comfort to me. I sleep there, and I dream there, every bit as fully as in the rest of my life.
I love it's worn corners and I love the carved headboard, with flowers that hover above my dreams. I love waking up there, to turn just slightly and put my bare feet upon the wooden floor, to feel the cool, moist air coming in the open window.
Wouldn't I rather have a bigger bed? There are two queen size beds in the house, in better rooms--one overlooking the garden and one that spans the entire second floor. I could have either. But I stay here, instead, on the little bed that is neither too comfortable nor too hard. That bed calls me. I'll see you tomorrow, all right?
PS - There is a blue and white bowl filled with raspberries on the counter in the kitchen. They were picked this morning and I meant to have them for dessert. If you go through the kitchen, have a handful. If you're in the mood, take the whole bowl off to your room. I like to think of you, lying on your bed, looking at the ceiling, feeling their fuzzy softness on your tongue. Mmm.