At the end of any trip, whether it’s a weekend away or a week long vacation, my dad always says, “isn’t it nice to be back in our own beds again?” My dad is a little bit of a homebody. Among the many characteristics that I inherited from my father, a love for travel is not one of them. He would much rather be at home in his bed night after night then anywhere else. It doesn’t keep him from most adventures, but I always think he is kind of relieved to be at home. So here we are back in our own beds again after our Easter weekend.
Peanut is currently snoozing next to me, and a slight snore has begun to develop. Like Peanut, I’m happy to be back in our shared bed and look forward to a long, restful sleep that isn’t interrupted by cats or crying babies. My bed is a kind of a sanctuary for me. Not only is it extremely comfortable, but it oddly enough is where I do most of my writing as well. The bed that I have now is my first upgrade from the twin sized mattress I slept on growing up.
My senior year of college I moved into an apartment with a friend of mine. She had lived there the year before so while the living room was completely furnished I had to think about how I was going to get furniture for my room. This full size mattress that I ended up getting, remained on the floor in my bedroom all year since I was too lazy to get a frame. Then it got rolled up and went in my car as I drove away from that apartment after graduation.
It has been the location of deep thinking, deeper feeling, and pages of writing. Oh, and of course the spot for some serious lounging as well as serious heart to hearts. I know it’s just a bed, but it’s my own bed. It’s the safe haven from the world, and where I have let my body collapse after a long day (or a long night). My aunt helped me picked out the sheets, an ex boyfriend once made a joke about how many pillows I have, and now the full size mattress that at one time felt huge now feels a lot smaller with a beagle who always manages to lay in the most inconvenient spot.
I’ve been away from this bed for up to two months at a time and it always feels good to return to it, and to return home. There is a scene in the movie Juno where she says, “I never realized how much I like being home unless I’ve been somewhere really different for a while.” I always used to forget about that fact too when I’ve been away. How much I miss hearing Sinatra floating through the radio in our house on Sundays, or hearing my mom cook in the kitchen. There is nothing quite like home, and there is no place like bed.