|Like The Queen
Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content.
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Thursday, April 15, 2004 I had a favorite game when I was young: Shipwreck. In that game my bed was a raft and the animals, pets and stuffed, were the little children I had saved when our ship, always a clipper ship, always in the Pacific Ocean and always surrounded by sharks, went down. Mama’s old brown fan, turned on high, provided the stormy seas and the bed clothes could double as either shelter or sail. At times I could force my sisters into playing with me - though then it would degenerate into a teasing opportunity - and nobody ever got the thrill I enjoyed, of imagining myself nestled into a cozy place, edged about with imagined danger, and on the move.
The game has never really faded from my repertoire of ThingsToWileAwayTheTime, though it’s mutated into a fancy I call Flying Bed. Believe it or not, BD will play flying bed with me. This is where, when one is restless, or perhaps sticky hot on an August night, I will describe a journey we are taking, flying above the world, about 100 feet up and silent. We always leave from home when the roof magically lifts off the house to let us escape. I tell the story, my voice growing softer and softer till we’re asleep.
All this nostalgia is prompted by the way we are living right now. With everything from the den in the living room, while the BeeUTeeFul, fresh, clean, no spider webs, no scuffs, all cracks patched, fresh paint dries, there is only the refuge of the Flying Bed. We did eat dinner last night (soup) on chairs by the HEAP, but afterwards we scrambled upstairs with books and newspaper and knitting. While the last of the rain poured itself out of heavy low clouds, we drifted in our imaginary world, minus only the animals; real and stuffed.
As progress through the house occurs, we’ll eventually have to move out for a night or two - but LD has generously offered his spare bed and since the dogs already think they live at his house, we shan’t be lonely at all.
As for the hilarious tales of disaster one ought to offer up when having one's house buffed - there was only the moment when the painter opened the cans of expensive paint, bought on last Saturday's foray into the city, to find that instead of oil based enamel for the woodwork, we had a gallon of BOLDY BLUE flat latex wall paint. This, for a room in the north west corner of my house with trees outside its windows and doors. EE gad! That left BD to go pick out locally available trim paint - something he is immanently capable of doing, for he really does have good taste, but alas - the sort of frustrating thing that stimulates all his literary talent - so that by the time I heard of it, he'd bought gray paint for the den - "you know, something like that" he spat out as he gestured towards a piece of stainless steel flatware on the restaurant table. I nearly wept - till I remembered that he also said he'd taken a paint chip off a little corner of the baseboard and had the guy match it on his scanner.
All's well. We'll be out of this unusual set up in a week or two. Thank goodness knitting is portable.
posted by Bess | 8:06 AM