Sleeping Around

Inspired by the writings of my wicked smart funny friends Jesse Seret (Perfect Calm), Trish Deitch (Distant Dock), Jessica Schickel (Chagrin and Bear It), Jen Sincero (Hey Little Bad Ass), and Janine Schulz (Oiling of a Rusty Mind), and encouraged by people I’ve met here and there, I will now commence the blog. Maybe just about beds. Maybe about other things too. But the beds are a constant. I’ve been keeping record of every mattress, hammock, waterbed, and couch I’ve spent the night on for some time, as many of you know.

Not every bed makes it into the bed collection. Sometimes I forget to take a picture. Once my computer was stolen on a night train in deepest India and I lost an important year of photos. Sometimes the beds in which I’ve slept would cause too much of a stir if made public, so. But there are lots beds in the bed collection. And stories behind each one.

If beds bore you then there is still some hope for us having a blogger/reader relationship. Let’s see how it goes. I’m only about 80% comfortable with this set up and welcome your input.

Love and kusheln from my red velvet bed in Berlin,

Noa
June, 2010
~ Tuesday, October 11 ~
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Olothang, Paro, Bhutan (October 7, 2012) – I have this strange karma, I’ve spoken about it before, to find myself alone in luxury. Solitude in five star hotel rooms, nights alone in chateaus, romantic getaways for one, sleeping single in a bungalow in Tulum. And here I am again, tapping at my computer in a vast acre of a flat overlooking Paro Valley. . The wandering is over, except the wandering of my own corridors. I can say I live in Bhutan now, in an apartment with a view and a kitchen. I unpacked all my suitcases and bought milk and honey. Of the three beds to choose from, for now I’m testing out the master suite. It is a ridiculous expanse of bedroom territory, warm with wood walls and floors and ceilings. I have Sally and Yann to thank for finding this place, which I took sight unseen. It used to be a restaurant, they tell me. Now it’s my home and that feels strange. . Today I watched how the shadows move across the rooms, taking mental notes. There is a perfect rectangle on my bed in the morning when I sit. Midday when the sun is overhead, the house falls into shadow and I need a sweater. But the kitchen has good sun in the afternoon. I am listening closely, what will my world sound like now? There are masses of cicadas in the trees around the house, there is a school up the hill and the students can be heard laughing during breaks, there was a man whistling and yodeling a Bhutanese song at the crack of dawn a few houses over. I’ve stashed two ticking clocks in the pantry because I don’t do ticking clocks. Dogs are barking outside or it wouldn’t be Bhutan. Ours are named Snowy, Laya and the black one, I think they call him Robert.

Olothang, Paro, Bhutan (October 7, 2012) – I have this strange karma, I’ve spoken about it before, to find myself alone in luxury. Solitude in five star hotel rooms, nights alone in chateaus, romantic getaways for one, sleeping single in a bungalow in Tulum. And here I am again, tapping at my computer in a vast acre of a flat overlooking Paro Valley.

.

The wandering is over, except the wandering of my own corridors. I can say I live in Bhutan now, in an apartment with a view and a kitchen. I unpacked all my suitcases and bought milk and honey. Of the three beds to choose from, for now I’m testing out the master suite. It is a ridiculous expanse of bedroom territory, warm with wood walls and floors and ceilings. I have Sally and Yann to thank for finding this place, which I took sight unseen. It used to be a restaurant, they tell me. Now it’s my home and that feels strange.

.

Today I watched how the shadows move across the rooms, taking mental notes. There is a perfect rectangle on my bed in the morning when I sit. Midday when the sun is overhead, the house falls into shadow and I need a sweater. But the kitchen has good sun in the afternoon. I am listening closely, what will my world sound like now? There are masses of cicadas in the trees around the house, there is a school up the hill and the students can be heard laughing during breaks, there was a man whistling and yodeling a Bhutanese song at the crack of dawn a few houses over. I’ve stashed two ticking clocks in the pantry because I don’t do ticking clocks. Dogs are barking outside or it wouldn’t be Bhutan. Ours are named Snowy, Laya and the black one, I think they call him Robert.

Tags: beds
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  1. noajones posted this