My Bed Is Calling My Name

There has never been another piece of my furniture that calls my name; however, my bed has called out my name many times on certain occasions. For instance, when I am very tired, when I am very sick, or when I am very sleepy.

I can't imagine my dining table, sofa, dishwasher or any other objects, appliances, decorations or any inanimate mass calling my name, but it seems that beds do call their owners.

I began to think about how personal my bed is.   It holds me, comforts me, relaxes me, and wraps me in undisturbed sleep, rest, and tranquility.  Out of all the pieces of things I have, my bed is by far the most giving.

I was having a conversation about my bed calling me recently with two other people, and I was talking with them when they also said, "I hear my bed calling my name."   I had a visual of our beds in our homes calling out to us and saying our individual names.  They were a chorus with voices raised high calling through the universe trying to reach us.

One was calling out the name of a young mother sitting close by, one was calling out to a grandmother, one was calling out to me.  Our sanctuaries of rest and sleep were getting our attention as we sat there in a dazed conversation.  It was as if our beds knew we were too far away and wanted to rein us home.

There are beds that hold memories; memories of conversations, arguments, times of love making, times of sickness; beds that can tell stories of their owners, beds that know how we smell, how much we weigh, how much cover we like, what kind of sheets we like.  There are beds that know our style of making them up after a nights' blissful rest and sleep or after a night of tossing and turning.

There are beds that keep secrets, beds with unwelcome sleepers, beds that hear whispers, beds that pillow our dreams, beds that get slobbered upon, gassed without mercy, and basically, suffer at our discretionary practices.

But call us they do.  We can be in the middle of a movie, dinner, a party, or exhausted
after a grueling day and clearly we hear the distinct sound of our bed, which,  for whatever reason, wants us to come to it and let it envelope us in its' arms.

I'm glad my bed knows my name, I'm glad my bed does not fold up and walk away.  I know my bed is there even when others may turn aside.  It is there to listen to my thoughts I say aloud, cradle my head, and wrap comforting warmth around my body and spirit.

Keep your sheets clean and tuck the corners tight, make your bed ready and don't let the bed bugs bite!  Your bed  will give you a good return.