Beds of our lives

king
King of the Hacienda.

THEY SAY THAT, as you age, you require less sleep. Oddly, over the past decade, I have morphed from a seven-hour man to an eight-hour man, defying that rule.

I do not know why.

Lights out between 10:30 and 11 p.m., and I usually wake up at 7. This morning I woke up at 7:30, becoming — at least for a day — an eight-and-a-half-hour man. I was refreshed!

Being worry-free helps one sleep, and I have little to worry about. Sleeping with a young, beautiful, Mexican babe puts one at ease. I got it made.

That’s our king bed up top, had it about a decade. It’s the first king bed I’ve ever owned. Grew up on twins, then doubles — called matrimonials in Mexico — and then upgraded to queen on landing down here. Finally, after being married quite a spell, we got the king.

You enjoy lots of space on a king, which you likely know because I suspect most people have kings these days. At least people of the age that hang around my edge of the internet.

In a recent post, Confessions of a Cracker, I briefly mentioned sleeping as a kid at my grandmother’s house near a window where I felt breezes and listened to crickets. The bed on which I slept was an antique, wood, spindle bed, I think they are called.

That was the very bed on which I was sleeping in my Houston home before my second wife tossed me out onto the street unceremoniously. I had inherited that bed.

In my new bachelor digs in a downtown Houston high-rise, I slept on this bed.

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A happy bed for a miserable man.

I may have been miserable during that time but, by God, I slept on a happy bed! I had painted that bed myself due to being a Renaissance Man.

My daughter owns that bed now. Unless she doesn’t.

I renewed bachelor life, involuntarily, in 1995. For a year or two, I was not an eight-hour man. I was lucky to get four or five. I was a Valium man.

A few days ago, the wood, spindle bed came to mind, and I emailed my second ex-wife as to its whereabouts because I had left it there where it stood when I segued from married man to miserable bachelor man. I asked if she still had it.

Her brief reply: Long gone.

Damn! But so was I. Long, long gone.

25 thoughts on “Beds of our lives

  1. I have an old bed complete with non-innerspring mattress and open metal springs under the mattress (not rusted but painted) sitting in the four-poster double walnut bedstead with burled walnut medallion headboard. It’s always been that configuration since new in the ’30s. It’s in a guest bedroom and rarely used, so no wallers in the middle. When I hibernate upstairs it’s where I go and I’d call it my happy place. The bed was my uncle’s in my grandmother’s house in Austin, TX.

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      1. What slays me is that none of our kids wants it. Has a matching chest of drawers and a vanity with three-way mirrors and bench in the same matching wood.

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  2. While there is a king bed in the spare, unused bedroom, I sleep on a double bed that’s sixty years old, the same one I’ve slept in since I was six. I’ve longed for a sleigh bed or something modern, but my bed is not yet worn out, so replacing it would be wasteful.

    I can remember being asked for my input about the style, as if my opinion mattered, that afternoon in Los Angeles when my grandmother placed the order with the furniture maker for the four-poster, along with the matching chest of drawers that seemed as tall as the Eiffel Tower and nightstand which wasn’t. What now seems so odd is that my grandmother wasn’t particularly fond of me, except maybe on that day, and no one else in the family had custom-made furniture. They all slept on twin beds, although I suspect that my mother took over my bed when I was away.

    And yes, I share my six or so hours of nightly sleep on that bed with Morgen the Doberman. Even if we did relocate ourselves to the king bed, I’d still end up with the same portion of bed to myself.

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    1. Ms. Shoes: Had I been able to easily bring my Granny’s bed to Mexico, I too could have slept on the same bed — with some breaks in midlife — for 60-plus years, but it didn’t work out that way. In any event, the king bed is roomier and nicer.

      Your grandmother was not particularly fond of you? How could anyone not be fond of you? Makes no sense.

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  3. That’s a beautiful bed in Houston. Should have kept it. As far as waking up next to a beautiful babe, I can see that. But how does she feel waking up next to a snoring old coot? LOL. She must feel OK too if she’s stuck with you. I long for an eight-hour sleep that I can wake up rested and refreshed from. Afternoon naps don’t make up for restless nights. Al

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    1. Señor Lanier: Since I moved to Mexico with just two suitcases, bringing a bed was not in the cards. As for how my child bride feels about waking up next to me, she feels fine about it, of course. I do snore, however. She solves that issue with earplugs. No joke. Hey, I’m well worth it. I was quite the stud muffin in my day. Still was when she married me 17 years ago. I still hold my own in the geriatric category.

      You can still ditch Stew and find a beautiful boy to wake up with. Or switch teams late in life, and find a beautiful babe as I did. Consider it.

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      1. She needs to train you to roll over on your side. For us it takes a simple “psssstttt” from me and over he goes. Much better for your body and her sleep.

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          1. I won’t go into detail with the risks of a geriatric person, or anyone for that matter, snoring while they sleep. I wear earplugs, too, but I can still hear when hubs has lengthy gaps in his intake of oxygen. Better for him that he turns over.

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  4. Never had a king until moving to Mexico, and we love it. Had many beds over the years. Didn’t get attached to any. Even had a waterbed a long time ago and liked it. Six hours a night for a long time, and now it’s habit. I’m told I snore, but I sleep right through it, I had an ex who used to complain about it. I told her if she worked a little harder during the day it wouldn’t bother her at night.

    Raining like the Dickens over here in Chapala, about two inches today.

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    1. Kirk: As mentioned, I never had a kingsize bed either till I moved south. Never owned a waterbed in my life, though I vaguely recall spending a night on one back in the ’70s with some sweet young thing. Those mattresses move around too much. It was a fad, and I’m glad it’s over.

      As for snoring, I’ve never heard myself snore either. It could be my wife is jiving. My parents, by the time they were my age, slept in separate bedrooms due to snoring, but the snorer was not my father. It was my mother. She was like a foghorn.

      I don’t recall your mentioning before that you live in Chapala, you poor devil. You’ve taken the easy way out. It’s raining like the Dickens over here too every day. It’s raining at this moment.

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  5. My father was born on the farm in a walnut bed. The wood harvested from a tree felled when they cleared the land.

    My parents hung onto the bed for decades, stored in the garage or basement of several different homes they lived in over the course of their lives.

    When the old man died a few years back, and I went up for the funeral, my mother took me into the garage and had me pull the bed down from the rafters. She asked me, being the skilled craftsman that I am, if I could make a small box from it, one for myself and one for each of my 6 siblings.

    I cut the pieces into a size that would fit in a large suitcase and brought them home with me. The first (and only) thing I built was a small box to hold my father’s ashes and he now lies in the same Iowa walnut he lay in when he took his first breath.

    I doubt I’ll ever get around to making the rest of them.

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  6. My sister-in-law and her husband splurged and bought a king-sized bed. It was on layaway. Furniture stores used to do that kind of deal. When they finally got it paid off, it was delivered and they found out it was bigger than the bedroom.

    They lived in that house for about ten years, and then they sold it. Lo and behold, the new buyer discovered that the house had a basement. They never even suspected.

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  7. They put the new bed in the living room. Not real gracious living, but par for the time and place. I was told there was nothing in the basement but an old icebox. There was some Black Jack gum in it. The entrance to the basement was through the closet floor. It had been covered up by linoleum. Who would have thunk it?

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  8. You reminded me I need a new mattress. I do not know how old mine is. It came with the house and belonged to the architect who designed the place for herself before her marriage crashed and burned. The mattress may carry some of those life woes. Whatever the cause, it sags where it shouldn’t — much like me.

    Mine, like yours, is a king. It sits atop one of those concrete platforms beloved of Mexicans. But the sides are trimmed with snazzy dark wood.

    When I return to Mexico in a few days, I need to look around for a quality mattress. I am not very picky, but I do like a comfortable place to sleep.

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    1. Señor Cotton: Lord knows how old that thing is. And one wonders if there are any places in your sandy village by the sea where really good mattresses are available. Let us pray so. I have no objection to those concrete bases, at least for sitting furniture if there’s a cushion on top. I’ve never seen one for a bed. I think they’re more common in beach communities. That’s where I’ve seen almost all of them. Around here where I live, we tend toward wooden bases. And, of course, Mexicans figured out long ago that box springs are just a scam developed by mattress companies to sell more stuff. A nice wood base — and a concrete one too, I imagine — makes for a firm sleeping platform. I like ’em.

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    2. Señor Cotton, P.S.: Of course, a single guy has no need whatsoever for the airport size of a king bed. Save yourself some dough and get a queen. Yeah, your concrete base is set in cement. You could put the mattress over to one side and use the extra cement base as a nice, full-length table for reading matter, your Economist, National Review, that sort of stuff. It would be fun.

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