My Bed

**Happy Birthday, Gram!**

(Inspired by Vice President Rockefeller’s bed)

I have tried to make my bed attractive. The brightly colored pillow cases I made from calico to compliment the old patch-work spread my sister gave me because she knew I’d appreciate the tiny quilting stitches. The edge was badly frayed but I rebound it.

I bought the sheets on sale. The blankets are chosen for wash-ability and endurance. The pillows are soft, non-allergenic and two for five dollars. On a good day everything goes into the old wringer-type washer and is hung in the sun to dry.

The bed itself is about eighteen years old. It has no head board, just a bed and a mattress, regular size and adequate for my husband and me. After a busy day it brings rest, companionship and refreshment. To the eye, it is bright and clean. I enjoy making the sheets fresh and arranging the blankets neatly with no wrinkles.

Turned back in the evening the white sheets and bright pillows invite. When we are away and the night comes on the thought of it draws us home. It is all that one could want; sturdy and firm, yet soft enough for comfort. It keeps the cold away.

We give up our bed when we have company since it is the only double bed we own, and sleep on adjoining cots downstairs. These are also our winter beds since we shut off the upstairs to conserve energy. When the ones we love visit, cots spring up around us and we have the sight and sound of them sleeping near.

Beds take a lot of care. There is the daily making of the bed, the weekly washing and changing sheets and the seasonal cleaning and turning of the mattress. When the sheets wear thin we make them into pillow cases or crib sheets or use them for the backing of string quilts.

I suppose a bed can be a symbol of conquest or luxury or even art. To come it may represent a battlefield or nameless nocturnal fears.

My bed is an old friend.