A Word Edgewise |
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A Word Edgewise |
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Last Updated 01/20/06
For more literature go
to Clendenin Books
Email: mjclen@our-town.com
SLIPPING INTO BED AT CHRISTMAS
We are going to spend Christmas with our daughter and family in Floresville
again this year. Last year we had a new adventure in their home. Maybe not
an uncommon adventure for some, but trying to sleep between satin sheets was
quite an adventure for this old married couple.
I lived through the Great Depression, reading by a kerosene lamp, darting
to a cold outhouse every winter morning, walking across pastures to school.
Cooking on a wood stove felt good in cold weather in wintertime. I learned
to drive a stick-shift car with no heater or air conditioner, taught by a
dad who was too scared to say a word once I shifted out of neutral.
I traveled out of state at a relatively early age and learned that life did
not end at the Texas border. I raised three beautiful children without the
aid of disposable diapers. I even saw men making moon tracks--in spite of
the fact that Aunt Effie Swanzy vowed it was a hoax. She said they just
made those pictures somewhere in Mexico (she never did admit there were two
Mexicos, Old and New) where the deserts had moon-like scenes.
Even before a birthday in late December, I thought I had experienced most
every normal occurrence--but I was wrong. I had never experienced trying to
sleep between satin sheets.
On Christmas in Floresville, grandson Adrian gave up his bed to us. Mind
you, it was before Christmas, so he did it without grumbling. He had even
"cleaned" his room for us--and it looked beautiful. The emerald green
satin
comforter with pillow cases, shams, and sheets to match the pretty green
curtains made the room look like it was straight out of McCalls Magazine.
The first night was the worst--maybe because Ray and I didn't know what to
expect, didn't know the hazards of sleeping between sheets as slick as
queen-size banana peels. We even oohed and ahhed at the smooth feel as we
slid non-stop between the green folds and tried to catch the pillows long
enough to fluff them.
Fatigue was with us that first night, too. After all, we had driven to
Louisiana on Monday, back to Stephenville on Wednesday, did our laundry on
Thursday and driven to Floresville, 30 miles southeast of San Antonio on
Friday. Sleep came quickly. But after not more than 30 minutes of blessed
oblivion, I was awakened by a draft. A few of the usual tugs at cover,
common behavior by Ray, had resulted in no cover at all on my side of the
bed.
Adrian was sleeping under the satin comforter, on the floor in the living
room--he had to have some of that luxury. We had put a quilt on top of the
sheet. I began hunting for the quilt. I knew where the sheet was. Ray
was
rolled up in it. They don't make material slick enough that he cannot roll
up like a window shade. My customary defense against that is to hold on to
a corner, but that satin had slipped through my clinched fist--it was still
clinched, the muscles permanently set.
I found the quilt off the end of the bed on the floor, just beginning to
crawl under the bathroom door. After retrieving it, and securing one end of
the quilt under the foot of the mattress, I was foolish enough to think the
puzzle was solved. Then I began hunting my pillow in order to go back to
sleep in comfort. It was off my side of the bed headed for the closet. I
put it back on and held it with both hands to keep it from climbing up over
the headboard before I could get to sleep.
Maybe, an hour later, I was blasted out of a light doze, dreaming that the
whole world was made of whipped cream and I was just a shred of
coconut--that was the deepest sleep of the night, by the way--but I was
blasted out of that doze by a terrible, scratching, clashing noise! I
thought Santa Clause had a wreck on the roof. Sitting up to discover the
source of the noise, I finally decided that Ray, in a habitual stroll to the
bathroom, had kicked a big sea shell kept on the floor to prop open the hall
door when the bathroom was not in use. The cocoon of satin wrapped around
him did not protect his toe. The shell had slammed into the bathtub and
ricocheted off his foot with a crash followed by a deep groan.
Thinking it was an opportunity to rescue the quilt from the floor at the
end of the bed again, I stepped out of bed and onto something strange on the
floor. I couldn't help but think of the nine-inch gecko that
environmentally conscious daughter kept in the house to eat bugs. The big
lizard would plaster himself on the wall behind the china closet or
refrigerator during the daylight hours and come out to eat bugs at night.
When he got the bug population under control, Melissa caught him extra
grasshoppers to supplement his diet.
Anyway, it turned out that what I had stepped on was a bag of candy that
had slid out from under the bed--remember, Adrian had cleaned the room.
Don't tell me he had SATIN under the bed, too. Maybe not, but knowing the
danger of looking under it, I didn't check.
Ray had unwound to go to the bathroom, so I rescued the sheet and re-made
the bed--it looked so deceptively pretty.
I thought that everything that could happen with satin sheets had
happened--but about that time a propulsion of satin struck me across the
eyes. Ray was trying to re-fit the fitted corner over the mattress and it
had slipped out of his hand.
We settled again, each with a tight grip on our side of the sheet and
quilt, holding on to each other to keep from sliding off the bed, we did
manage to get a couple of hours of sleep. It being Christmas Eve when we
awoke, we smiled and lied about how well we had slept and what a wonderful
time we were having, all the time planning strategies for the next two
nights. Christmas with the kids is something else! Hope you have a
wonderful one.