When shown an old bed, I've often heard people tell stories bout their grandmother's bed. About how they and all of their siblings would be tucked into the same bed when visiting grandma. Or maybe the memory of jumping up and down on the bed would bring smiles to their faces.
I can't relate to that at all. If we ever jumped up and down on her bed, my grandmother would have beat us into unconsciousness with a broom stick. A family story has my grandmother locking the infant me in the car one night because my crying was keeping her awake.
This in no way is intended to give the impression that I don't have fond memories of my grandmother. Quite the contrary, we often tell wonderful tales about her. It's just that none of them is connected to a bed. She would never have hit us with a broom stick. The business end of a broom is another matter entirely.
Tomorrow is a travel day. I'm heading back home, to Jodi. And here, we come full circle. I am really looking forward to sleeping in my own bed once again.
My parent's spare bedroom has a fantastic bed that has been around since we were kids. It's an antique with a really high headboard. Family legend says that a ghost named Matilda lives in the headboard. My parents used the story as a way of keeping us from jumping up and down on the bed (their bed at the time) when we were young. Which is better than beating us with a broom stick.
Still, I am really looking forward to sleeping in my own bed with my own pillows. No broom sticks please.
I'll post again on Wednesday. Have a great Tuesday folks.