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| Sleeping Beauty - Eloise napping after Dinner |
There's nothing better than a comfortable bed. Except a REALLY comfortable bed!
So when I prepared to leave the soft sheets and blankets of my
king-sized nest to spend the Holidays with my family, I was disappointed
to find I couldn't get a good night's sleep for almost two weeks prior
to my departure.
Pre-vacation lists and anxieties stole my peace. None of my usual
calm-me-down routines worked; trading red wine for Sleepytime tea, drops
of lavender on the pillow… I knew I'd be bed hopping for the entire
Holidays and wanted to clock some Zzzzz before I left.
With less than two hours sleep the night before we flew to London, I
staggered onto the plane looking like death warmed over. Excuse the
gruesome simile but it was that bad.
I got no sleep on the plane (that's another story) so when I arrived
at my sister Sue's house in Surrey, around 9 a.m., I almost cried when
she suggested I stay awake until 9 p.m. GMT to face down jet lag. I
stared into my coffee mug. My circadian rhythms had gone up the spout
weeks ago and I just wanted a bed – any bed.
"I can't do it," I groaned. "I'm going to fall over if I don't get some sleep."
"Then just an hour," Sue warned. "You have to get your body clock in synch or you'll be jet lagged for a week."
My nephew's bottom bunk bed had never looked so good. I flopped under
the comforter and was immediately unconscious. When my alarm woke me to
the melodious tones of Apologize I felt better, until I stood up. The
room started spinning and I wondered how I'd ever make it through the
rest of the day.
Coffee, wine, British biscuits and not-seen-you-in-four-years catch
up conversation did the trick. Before I fell back into my nephew's bed
at 11 p.m., a melatonin melting in my mouth, I took a few moments to
stare at the luminescent stars he'd stuck on his ceiling and walls. They
were truly relaxing. I felt grateful to him for rolling out his
sleeping bag on the floor next to his parents' bed so that I could have a
bed to sleep in.
I spent two nights in his single bunk before heading North to my
mother's house in Shropshire, where a full sized bed awaited me, until
Christmas Eve. My mum had bought a memory foam topper earlier that day
and we flopped around like fish trying to unroll it, then cover it with
fresh sheets.
"What's that smell?" I asked.
She glanced at the freshly painted chest of drawers beside the door.
"I had an onion in here earlier but it smelled awful so I took it out."
I opened the window and hoped the smell would be gone before bedtime.
After too much wine I didn't care about the gloss paint aroma that
filled the bedroom. It was only when I lay down that I discovered
another, more pungent smell. It wasn't the lavender I'd generously
dropped on the pillow – this was a chemical concoction.
"Allow foam mattress to air out for at least 24 hours before using," stated the instructions.
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| Bedroom Office |
I swung open all the windows, loaded up the blankets and tried to
ignore the howling winds swooping through the trees. I felt like I was
in Wuthering Heights. Around 3 a.m. I gave up trying to sleep and turned
on the laptop my sister Jackie had loaned me. I answered emails,
designed layout pages for this Winter issue and synched photos from my
cell phone to an external hard drive that contained ALL the docs I
didn't want to lose should my house burn down while I was away.
"Did you sleep well?" my mum asked when I shuffled into the kitchen to get coffee.
"Bit windy," I replied. "Do you still have onions?"
After three nights the smell began to clear up. My sister Sue was
arriving to take over the room so I packed my case and wheeled it around
the corner to my sister Jackie's house.
As her bedrooms were already full with family my bed for the next two
nights was in the middle of the dining room. I unrolled the brand new
Aerobed and plugged in the pump.
"Charge pump for 24 hours before using." Seriously?
The Aerobed fit snugly between the wooden desk and round dining
table. I soon surrendered to its surprisingly solid comfort.
When I woke
up Christmas morning it was almost 9:30 a.m. and not a soul was
stirring in the house. By 10 a.m. the living room was crowded with
family scarfing down croissants and sipping Bucks Fizz.
The festivities flowed into the night and right through the next day
with a family meal at Atcham's historic Mytton and Mermaid.
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| Old Atcham Bridge, Shropshire |
The River
Severn had busted her banks and was charging just below the roof of
Atcham Bridge outside the windows. The whole country was flooding, but
inside we were warm, loud and very happy to be together for the first
time in years.
One more night on Jackie's dining room floor then I was wheeling my case back to my mum's house. Eau de gloss paint still lingered in the
air but the foam mattress smell was gone.
I fell asleep thinking about the family gathering scheduled for the next day. It had been eight years since I'd seen my dad (he was still living in Africa the last time I was in England) and we'd planned a pot luck family reunion.
I fell asleep thinking about the family gathering scheduled for the next day. It had been eight years since I'd seen my dad (he was still living in Africa the last time I was in England) and we'd planned a pot luck family reunion.
The afternoon with my dad and his Nigerian side of our family was
loud and heartwarming. We took photos and promised to post them on
Facebook. Tears flowed as family began to disperse to their homes across
England. I couldn't believe it was over.
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| Bramble Cottage, England |
My case was packed for a night at Bramble Cottage, also in Atcham,
where my brother Steve was staying with his family. The drive from my
dad's house to the cottage was terrifying as Steve had inherited my
dad's need for speed along the winding country roads.
After sharing hilarious tales over Jagermeister served in egg cups
(no shot glasses to be found), I set up the Aerobed mattress in the
conservatory, one of the 'newer' quarters of the ancient building. I
tried to sleep but the walls were creaking. This was the only night
sleeping over with my brother's family and I was already missing them. I
was woken up at 4 a.m. by a strange sound. I peered into the darkness
and saw nothing but a red EXIT sign.
Seconds after I lay back down a long sigh was exhaled about two feet
over my face. I screwed up my eyes, ducked under the quilt and hid from
whatever was hovering over me. I didn't come up for air until daylight.
"Of course the place is haunted," my brother scoffed. "It was built in the 1700's."
After our goodbyes I settled in for two more nights at my mum's. I
spent much of the day designing pages for this Winter issue. It felt
good to be reconnected with my American world while sipping tea under
the thrashing rain on the roof of my mother's ghost-free conservatory.
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| BFF Arlene, BEST Indian food EVER& wine! |
On December 30th I packed up again and headed North to Scotland for
New Year's Eve with my long-time friend and U.S. traveling companion,
Arlene.
I had a choice of beds in Edinburgh. My mum, my sister and I had
rooms at Arlene's mother's house while my sons were staying with Arlene
and her two much younger boys.
I ended up staying at both places over our four-night visit because while I appreciated the quieter option of Betty's home, I also wanted a night to catch up with Arlene.
This meant a conversation marathon at her kitchen table until 3 a.m., resumed over coffee by 9 a.m. the next morning.
I ended up staying at both places over our four-night visit because while I appreciated the quieter option of Betty's home, I also wanted a night to catch up with Arlene.
This meant a conversation marathon at her kitchen table until 3 a.m., resumed over coffee by 9 a.m. the next morning.
I slept on a futon at Arlene's house, nestled in the middle of what
had been her sons' bedroom until the day before, and was now in
transition to becoming the home office.
I stared up at shelves crammed with books, files and papers, my head
inches from a large wooden desk (déjà vu). The only remnants of the
children were found in the seasonal mural still claiming the top half of
the twenty-foot high walls.
My last night in Edinburgh was spent at Betty's house with my mum and
Jackie, after a wonderful bonfire in Arlene's garden with fish and
chips for dinner. The perfect way to end our trip.
As I sat in my seat on the plane from Edinburgh to Gatwick, I thought
about all the beds I'd slept in and how different they'd been. No
matter how little room a family had, they'd rearranged their own nests
to make room for us. I was content to lie down wherever I landed,
grateful for the hospitality and the company of so many familiar faces.
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No matter where I was, I was home, secure in the bosom of family and friends that I don't see enough of.
The first night back in my own bed was amazing. I'd become so used to
twin beds and mattresses on floors that I didn't move an inch all
night. I woke up to my cat, Travis, stretched out next to me.
Welcome home!
This post was originally published as a Life Stories article in the Winter 2013 issue of CapeWomenOnline.com magazine
