This is the fourth week of introductions of Self-Portrait Challenge and my mind wanders off to soft beds and chatty fairies.
This is my refuge. My bedroom. Quilt and matching pillow shams. A thick, warm comforter. Many pillows. A lamp. Books, magazines. Flat screen TV. REMOTE. I lift the dogs up on the bed, anytime I go there they must be with me. Scooter will howl if I leave him in there for more than 5 minutes. The dogs are always content at bedtime. Mom is safe in her spot, M safe in his, D on his way, the dogs in there usual spots...all is right with the world.
The bedroom walls are a dark pine color giving the room a calm even in the bright of day. When I am feeling overwhelmed, I go there. Sometimes I go to bed early and watch TV in blissful silence, falling off before my favorite show has seen its' first commercial break. Sometimes I go for a nap but instead watch the trees bend with the wind, or the rain hit the windows.
D and I loved when M would sleep with us. Nestled between the two of us, it all felt so safe, so perfect. Sometimes I go there and just be. Alone, for quiet time, for refuge. I really don't do that enough.
Mom and I slept together most of my youth. I can remember almost every bedroom we had. When we had two bedrooms, my grandmother and I shared a bedroom with twin beds. My mom had large, heavy Mediterranean furniture. I would lay in her bed on a rainy weekends, watching Dracula or some black and white Werewolf movie and be in hog heaven. I remember exactly the way my bedroom looked in Malta, neat and sparse with a wardrobe. My bedroom in Dundee, in this wonderful edifice called Claverhouse. Luxurious, large, old. My dog took up the other pillow, slept under the covers and mom would throw a fit about it. My first bedroom that was really decorated for me was when I was 14. My dad and step-mom bought me a French Provincial bedroom suite including a canopy bed. It was wonderful, matching, feminine ... perfect.
On Colorado Street, in Oak Cliff, Texas, I must have been 4, maybe 5 (before mom had a car, she took the bus to work) I had my best bedtime experience. We would lay in bed at night with a perfect 60's Dallas skyline, flying red Pegasus would be our nightlight. Listen and laugh at the woman on the second floor we called "elephant foot", because she was so loud at night. In that very same bed is where I had my meeting with the little fairies. The bed had a built-in bookcase for the headboard. One night, and only one night, fairies, a small as 2 inches tall visited me. I can remember laying very still as not to scare them off. I don't remember being frightened, but completely fascinated. I feigned sleep, watched and listened, as they climbed around on the bookcase, dangling off books and from threads. They were so small that I could not understand what they were saying to one another, but they were very chatty and I tried so hard to hear some of their conversation. I remember that night as if it were yesterday. And I swear to everyone I tell this to, that it was not a dream. My friend Faith said she had the same experience when she was about the same age. My mom said she had dreamed of fairies one time as well.
I only wish they would come back and visit. Just one more time!
Through the Lens of Fred Lyon
2 hours ago