You are currently browsing the tag archive for the ‘sleep’ tag.

This megabunny was quite antisocial, preferring to sleep beneath his little bench and avoid any part of the petting zoo that might bring him into contact with children.

Quote of the day: “If ever there is tomorrow when we’re not together… there is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we’re apart… I’ll always be with you.”  —  A.A. Milne

Daily gratitudes:
That depression lies
Shiney
Putting away most of the laundry
Vegetable soup
My wolf picture

Sometimes, Canon (aka The Big Gun) just needs a long nap in a soft bed.

Cripple Creek, Colorado.

Quote of the day: ““If we’re lucky, we find the one person who will hold our trust and keep it sacred and safe against all attackers. That one soul who will restore our belief that people are decent and kind, and that life, while messy, is still the most wondrous gift anyone can know.”  —  Sherilynn Kenyon

Daily gratitudes:
A little girl twirling as she holds onto her father’s finger
The scent of morning glories
Cooler days
Mysterious parrots
Hugs and virtual face touches

I woke at 1:30 this morning.  The moon was so bright that it was casting huge shadows across my bed. 

For those of you who remember my post about which side of the bed you sleep on, you’ll be interested to know that I’m branching out.  Maybe because my hot flashes are playing like a baby at night.  My bed has grown extra pillows somehow, and when I’m too hot, I find myself throwing off the covers, flinging myself sideways, and using the multitude of pillows as surrogate blankets.  I’m strangely padded by cool sheets and pillowcases until I get too cold, then rearrange myself in a more normal and customary position.

Last night though, when I awoke, I wasn’t unhappy about it – I was just awake.  I sat cross-legged on the bed for a while, letting the shadows play across my skin.  I even tried to take pictures, but I doubt they came out.  It was magical – just me and the moon.  Moonlight must be good for you, just as sunlight is, but in a different way.  It provides you with “yin” energy, which increases serenity and sensitivity.  Unfortunately, it doesn’t spur you too much action.  Which kind of makes sense, since after all, it IS the middle of the night and you ARE supposed to be sleeping.

Of course, Urban Dictionary also defines a moonbath as “farting under the full moon”.  That rather takes some of the bloom off the rose.

I think I’ll stick with my original definition.

What side of the bed do you sleep on?

When you’re young and you have a twin bed, this is not really an issue – there’s only one side of a twin bed.  If you have tried to share a twin bed with someone, you will probably have discovered that, if you are the one sleeping next to a wall, when you roll over you CAN break your nose on said wall.  Trust me on this.

At some age, perhaps early teens, many of us graduate to a double bed. 

And if you try to go back to sleeping in a twin bed for any length of time after you move to a double bed, you run a very high risk of falling out of bed.  Trust me on this one too.  And believe me when I tell you that hitting the floor as a dead weight in the middle of the night is a distrubing way to wake up.

It seems, and maybe it’s just my perception, that the size of every bed has changed over the last 48 years.  Kelsea’s twin bed seems much larger to me than my twin bed growing up, or the twin beds in the room we share at the beach for that matter.  Double beds seem smaller – queen beds seem more like what I remember double beds to be.  And king-size beds seem huge, with the California King being huger than huge.  I’ve always wondered why they named it California King.  If it’s a description of size, then shouldn’t it have been named Texas King?

During my entire married life, I slept on my husband’s right.  I don’t know why.  He was left-handed, but I don’t think that had anything to do with it.  On the rare occasions when we tried to change sides, it just felt so wrong.  And now that I am single, the idea of sleeping on anyone else’s right side feels wrong.  I imagine I would wake up in a confused fog, thinking that Pat was the person next to me, and that’s really not an episode any courtship needs.  But I could deal with sleeping on someone else’s left side.

When Kelsea and I took road trips last year, we sometimes had to share a bed, and it didn’t matter what side I was on.  Thinking back, it was her right side in Tucumcari and Cheyenne, her left side in Cimarron and Durham.  Apparently, when it’s not a romantic partner, it makes no difference, although with her, I tend to take the side closest to the door, in order to protect her from intruders (which really makes no sense at all).

In my own massive bed, I sleep on the left side (as viewed from my position lying on my back in the bed).  The right side is a dark territory into which I rarely venture, like the wilds of the Amazon, as yet fully unexplored.  Every so often, I’ll wake up lying sideways or diagonally across the bed, but I never start out of the right side, and I never wake up there.  I’m sure part of the reason is because the light switch is on the left side, but I know that’s not all of it. 

It’s truly a psychological thing.  When I moved out, I wanted to change everything.  Since I took almost nothing from the family home, since Kelsea (and of course, Pat) were still living there, I bought furniture.  (Thank heavens I was working at the time.)  Everything was new to me, which fit well with the idea of leaving my old life behind and making a fresh start.  So I deliberately chose to sleep on the opposite side of the bed from that which I’d slept on for the past 24 years. 

And now, here I am, on the other side of the bed.  I dislike the fact that the side to my right is empty, but I hope that will change in time.  It certainly leaves a lot of room for exploration in the future.

Damn the Millers.  Damn them.  They are back.

If you’ve followed me for any length of time, you may perhaps recall last year, at almost exactly this time, we had a serious moth problem – I discussed it here.  From my many years in Colorado, and the discussions about the moth crisis last year, I thought this to be a cyclical thing, with the cycle being something like every 20 years.  Apparently, I was mistaken.

They are back with an enthusiasm that portends vengeance.  I thought it was just one or two – no big deal – but then realized that’s how it started last year.  And nightly, their numbers increase.  They flirt with self-destruction in the single bedroom light at night.  Their wings beat the walls and ceiling in the darkness.  They hide during the day, in folds of curtains, in underwear drawers (seriously?!), in shoes, like stalking lions, waiting to leap out upon the unsuspecting gazelle.

Kelsea came into my room last night at 1:30, and stood spectrally by my bedside, as she does when she wants to wake me.  It always works, no matter how quiet she is.  “There was an earwig on my pillow and a moth in my room,” she said sleepily.  The dutiful mother, I got up and killed them both and put her back to bed.  But at 2:30, the spectre was back.   “There are more moths in my room.  I can’t handle it.  I’m freaking out.  They’re flying at my face.  They chased me  out of the room.  I can’t stay here.  Can we call someone?  Why aren’t they at Dad’s house?  Can I sleep with you?”

Of course, she can and did sleep with me, and we both slept well, undisturbed and mothless.  I know they’ll be back today though, and tonight.  It IS creepy.  I don’t know how they get in the house, and I don’t want to entertain the thought that they’re hatching in here somewhere, but it has crossed my mind.  While the weather a few weeks ago was coolish and dampish, it has been hot since then, so I wouldn’t have thought that the breeding/migrating/whatever pattern from last year was being replicated.  I just don’t understand it.

What I do understand is that Kelsea (moreso than I, but I too, to a certain extent) has developed a veritable phobia about these buggers.  I truly thought last night that she wanted me to get out of bed and drive her to her Dad’s house at 2:30 am.  Of course, that will never happen.  She needs to get over it, and I need to figure out how to help her to do so.  When she was very small, she found a skunk skin in the backyard, and from that experience, developed a strong fear of skunks.  It eventually passed, but I tried many things to “cure” it:  stuffed skunks, skunks sweetly portrayed in cartoons, skunk puppets, discussing skunks, songs about skunks – nothing worked except time.

And I guess time is what it will take this time as well.  The good news is that neither of us have seen the following:  “In high populations, however, they have the unusual habit of banding together in army-like groups and may be seen crawling across fields or highways in large numbers.”  This is what the Colorado State University Department of Cooperative Extension says happens sometimes.  Thank you, NO.  I doubt we’d ever recover.

Well, time to go check every crack and crevice in the cottage for the creatures in an effort to drive them out before nightfall.  And to set the lightbulb bucket trap in the kitchen.  Say a little prayer for us.

Today’s guest poet — Pablo Neruda

Sonnet XVII

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.


(Photograph by Karin Rostenthal)

I am under the weather, which is difficult to be, since the weather is so low.

My mind was wandering, as it sometimes does, and it came to rest on a recent viewing on National Geographic or the Discovery Channel of a whale exploding on a flatbed truck in Taiwan.  Totally disgusting.  But of course, that made me curious and so I googled “exploding whale”.  Lo and behold, I discovered that this is NOT the first time such a thing has happened (though it was a first for downtown Taiwan.)   Back in 1970 on a beach in Oregon, they blew up a beached whale (it had already expired.)  In fact, between 2001 and 2008, nine cases of exploding whales have been reported worldwide.  You can find more information than you want at www.theExplodingWhale.com.  Be warned – it can be pretty gross. 

Big, fat, happy snowflakes are falling outside.  As a follow-up to this morning’s post, I guess that’s one nice thing about winter.

Why is it that Pat gets defensive over any suggestion I make regardless of how I couch it, or what the topic is?

I bought myself a bouquet of stock earlier this week.  It’s a lovely flower, mostly shades of purple and white, and wonderfully fragrant.  I grew it in the garden once and was very proud of myself.

My feet are cold and I can’t warm them up.  I should try my own suggestion of cayenne pepper in my socks.  It seems a lot of old-timey remedies involved socks.  (Like the sock full of hot salt for earaches.)  Guess socks are one thing that pioneers always had?

There’s one damn Miller moth in my cottage.  One.  More than enough.  One.

I am sick, queasy, and in the mood for ice-cold vodka – how freakish is that?

I miss my friend Diane.  She’s like a big sister I’ve never met and I haven’t heard from her in months.  I’m worried about her.

I would love to sleep for 24 hours.  Sleep, nap, doze, nap.  Whatever.  Nap.  Sigh.

QuiltK asleepMexico Bed

As an insomniac, I find it fascinating – and entertaining – to watch others sleep. 

On airplanes, people sleep sitting up.  I don’t know how they are able to do this, especially on airplanes, which are the ultimate in discomfort.  But the funny thing is, I used to be able to do it, when I flew very often for work and spent loads of time in the air.  And I can’t remember how.  Do they dream?  Are they really sleeping?  Or just resting?  No, I know they’re really sleeping- they’re snoring.

Sleeping with eyes open.  Yes, people actually do this.  It’s highly creepy. 

The head jerk  – this one happens especially during boring college classes. I can recall one particular spring semester philosophy class where I’m surprised that a) I passed and b) I didn’t give myself whiplash.

The car sleep.  This is one of Kelsea’s specialties.  See?

How can she sleep like that

As for me, I have very fond memories of falling asleep in the back seat of my parents car on the way home after concerts at Page Auditorium.  It’s a precious thing from childhood.  So safe.

Sleep walking.   I went  through a period in my first year of college when this was a huge problem for me.  In my most noteable escapade, I got up, looked at the clock, went down three flights of stairs to a locked door, back up one flight, down the hall to the elevator and down to the lobby of my 18-story dorm.  When the elevator doors opened, and I stepped out, I woke up.  All I can say is, thank goodness I still wore pajamas.  My roomate and I rigged up several sets of brass bells on the doorknob, which woke me up when I tried on other occasions.

Sleep Talking.  Kelsea and I both do this (unfortunately.)  We both tend towards randomness – for example, “Burrito!” It happens for her shortly after she goes to sleep, and for me, when I awaken myself from dreams. 

But…………………

Every so often, you find someone you can sleep with in a very special way.  Someone who comforts you with just their touch. Someone you reach out for in a half-dream state, and feel your soul sigh when you find them.  Someone with whom you awaken and discover that your dreams somehow crossed paths.  Someone with whom you feel so connected, so intimate, so relaxed, that you feel as if you’ve been drugged.  This, for an insomniac such as myself, is heaven on earth – or perhaps in-between.  I so look forward to finding such a sleep again.

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