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
~ Thursday, October 27 ~
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Bumthang, Central Bhutan (October 27, 2011) — Thimphu to Bumthang with a stop for lunch and another stop for fresh roasted corn by the roadside. Phuntsho provided the transportation, Tshewang provided the accommodation, and I bought the famous Bumthang cheese. After about 10 hours in the car, we stopped at Kurjey Lhakang but it was closed. Offerings had to be made mentally and from outside the gates. Tshewang’s sister Sonam’s house up the hill was empty so we crept in and spent the night. We ate pizza that Phuntsho picked up and Tsehwang whipped up one of his famous meals. Funny to find ourselves back here; we spent Christmas Eve just down the road last year. While Tshewang cooked and Phuntsho took a nap, I read a copy of the New Yorker from 2005 that I found between kid’s books and Sonam’s distance education manuals. I am grateful that we are no longer in the Bush era. So much has happened in 6 years. There was a story by Nick Flynn and a disturbing piece of fiction about a changeling baby. It was very cold in the house but there were many blankets to choose from and I slept well. The sonorous snoring of my travel mates harmonized through the dark house.

Bumthang, Central Bhutan (October 27, 2011) — Thimphu to Bumthang with a stop for lunch and another stop for fresh roasted corn by the roadside. Phuntsho provided the transportation, Tshewang provided the accommodation, and I bought the famous Bumthang cheese. After about 10 hours in the car, we stopped at Kurjey Lhakang but it was closed. Offerings had to be made mentally and from outside the gates. Tshewang’s sister Sonam’s house up the hill was empty so we crept in and spent the night. We ate pizza that Phuntsho picked up and Tsehwang whipped up one of his famous meals. Funny to find ourselves back here; we spent Christmas Eve just down the road last year. While Tshewang cooked and Phuntsho took a nap, I read a copy of the New Yorker from 2005 that I found between kid’s books and Sonam’s distance education manuals. I am grateful that we are no longer in the Bush era. So much has happened in 6 years. There was a story by Nick Flynn and a disturbing piece of fiction about a changeling baby. It was very cold in the house but there were many blankets to choose from and I slept well. The sonorous snoring of my travel mates harmonized through the dark house.