Making beds

It rained again yesterday. The skies were grey all day and the rain came down from time to time, covering the patio and giving us no reason to leave the house, unless you just wanted to get wet in this time after the swimming pools of summer were closed. I had to take Tex out from time to time, but he didn't enjoy the wetness, shaking his paws off on the grass and stepping gingerly from spot to spot.

Meanwhile, we spent the day going from room to room, cleaning the dirt and grime from surfaces and if not for the fact that we had to live in this space and utilize and begrime it all over again, I think most of the area in which I sit and tap on this keyboard would be clean and straight.

But people aren't like that. We might stop from time to time, maybe even on a regular basis, and try to grasp the condition of our shelters and our little pieces of the pie, but we still have a tendency to mess it up quicker than we do the opposite. This family has a middling talent for keeping the space in which we live relatively straight and clean.

I do like a made bed. I don't know what it is about it that gives me a sense of well-being. When you get back into an unmade bed, there is something slovenly about it. Maybe not so negative that it prevents you from resting in your bed. But the opposite, getting up in the morning and straightening out the creases and replacing the wrinkles with something more tailored, is comforting.

It is inexplicable. I don't know why it is. I just know that it is. I suppose there are differences between people as to what kind of relief or comfort we might receive from making a bed (an odd saying, we don't really 'make' the bed), but I can say that there is something different about just getting between the bed sheets and opening the made bed, opening up the package and sliding in between the sheets and blankets and comforters.

It is kind of like opening a package on Christmas morning or on your birthday and becoming part of the gift. I can relax my body and stretch my body between the sheets and close my eyes and turn my being over to Lethe.

Gosh, it almost makes me want to get back in bed. I guess it would be a bit neurotic if I expelled Cindy from our bed, remade the bed, and then pulled down the sheets and lay my body back into its place of comfort.

I think I would need to shower and shave before I did that. And if I did that, I might as well go to church and carry on with the day. Head my body down the road to whatever evil it might contain, only to return to the clean sheets, drawn tight and covered with the blanket and comforter and pillows, all piled up in their orderly piles.