New Bed: Part Deux

Uncertainty as Toby sniffs the new bed. >>>
Ringo prepares to dive underneath.
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It's taken two weeks for the furniture store to get my actual new bed. They had the mattress set in stock, and I have been sleeping (!) on it with it perched on a loaner frame.

There was a repeat performance with the cats. The doorbell rang. The cats skittered under the bed. The delivery men went in the bedroom to lift up the mattresses to retrieve the frame and cats went flying out. Oh shit, she's moving again.

I watched with great anticipation as first the headboard and then the footboard came through the front door. Then suddenly, the thought struck me that this was the first time in my entire life I had ever bought a NEW bed. My childhood bed was one of a pair of bunks left over from my older brothers, my teenaged bed was bought at a yard sale, and I had to strip layers of paint off it to finally repaint it an antiqued avocado (it was the 60's, after all). I took that bed with me to my marriage, and it was not replaced until I inherited Great Auntie's furniture. It was a good thing that at the time I was married to a very short man.

During my second marriage, we never had a real bed, just the mattress set on a frame. Toward the end, we did buy a headboard, but it never even got attached to that frame. By that time, I was sleeping in the other room in Great Auntie's bed anyway. So, that one doesn't count in my book. As far as I know, the headboard is still leaning against the wall.

Back to our story...this bed had to be assembled, as it had side rails and screwed in slats. The men put the platform back on the bed, I tossed on my new dust ruffle (the cats love that), they topped it off with the mattress, and they were on their way. The cats were still well hidden. I put on the sheets, tossed on the quilt, fluffed up the pillows, and still no cats. Hmm.

I flopped into the middle of the bed. Man, this is one tall bed. I can barely vault into it. I can't sit on the edge and put on my shoes, which is good anyway, because that ruins your bed eventually. There is a chair in the bedroom for that. Which now is uncluttered because I put a rack to hang my jackets and things up on the wall. What has come over me? I look semi-organised in there. Maybe it will spread to the rest of the house some day.

Eventually, the cats showed up from the undisclosed hiding place. The jaguar slink mode was employed once again, and both cats had to sniff the new furniture to see if it met to expectations. Once satisfied, they dived under the bed ruffle to check out the clearance beneath.

Then I pulled back the covers and dived in myself. Four hours later, I woke up because some fool thought he had dialed the contest line for the local radio station. I stumbled into the living room, as I don't keep the phone near the bed lest I answer before I fully awaken. No glasses, so no chance of reading the caller ID. This poor soul asks me "Am I the third caller?" On another, less wonderful day, he would have gotten the wrath of Khan. But I was nice, saying that he must have the wrong number, and please dial more carefully next time. He apologized. I hung up the phone.

I need to make up a snappy retort for this sort of call, because three hours later, it happened again. This time, the lady insisted she had dialed the number they gave on the radio. Impossible, I said, I've had this number for over ten years. She still argued, and I hung up on her. Next person is going to win an all expenses paid trip to the local landfill if they don't apologise for misdialing.

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Short story long: I love my new bed. I am the queen of the household. You may kiss my ring.

The Seal(y) of approval

After a lot of soul-searching and heeding the ever present aching of my back, I decided that maybe it wasn't a good idea to keep Great Auntie's antique bed any longer as my prime resting spot. As much as I cherish this bed, I would have to get a custom mattress made for it, since it would not really be possible to "squish" a standard 75" mattress into its really only 72" long frame. Only a few places remain that will build a custom mattress any more, and since I don't want a round or heart-shaped one, I am not willing to go hunt for them, then pay the shipping costs on top of everything else.

I shopped one more store, a locally owned one, and found what I wanted at a price I could afford. It seems that the mattress manufacturers change the coverings they offer on the outside of their products quite often, and the style conscious types must have the latest. I am not one of those. So I bought the "so last week" fabric, at a substantial savings, and got a much nicer mattress than I first thought I'd be able to get. Top it off with free delivery, and honey, you have yourself a sale!

Therefore, the domestic goddess got herself a queen-size bed. Harris Furniture delivered the mattress and foundation on Saturday morning, with a loaner frame until the bed itself arrives. The new bed is a nice imitation of my old bed, stylewise. It's oak, where the old bed is walnut, and of course, much lighter tone because it's new. There is a headboard and footboard, and it has a nice oval sort of shape and some little decorative carvings for accents. It will blend nicely with the real antiques, and I can buy sheets that fit! To say I am tickled is an understatement.

I knew that getting a new bed would be a trauma for the cats. They knew something was up Friday night when I was in there dusting and vacuuming everything within an inch of its life. (Look out! She's hoovering! Something is going to happen! Run! Hide!) When the two college age guys knocked on the door with the delivery, it was time for them to go into action. (Quick, under the bed!)

These guys were so nice. One of them commented about my "washing machine" on the front porch as they came in. While that sounds like something you would expect in Arkansas, famous for upholstered pieces on the veranda, it's not at all the avocado green appliance you are thinking about. It's the wringer frame that holds two tin washtubs, and has a built in rub board. It's at least a hundred years old, and I normally plant begonias in it in the spring. Last winter, some kittens took refuge in the tub, and began sleeping in it. They still do, so no flowers, just dirt. Anyway it's on my porch and it's sort of nifty.

I digress. That wasn't the only thing these young men hadn't seen before. When they dismantled the old bed, they hauled the mattress out first. I'm sure they had never seen a real cotton tick before. But the fun part was they had never been up close and personal to a real, honest-to-goodness bed spring. The kind you used to see in movie attic scenes of old houses, next to the dress form that no one really ever had in their attic (where DID that cliche come from?). I had to ask if either had ever seen one, and they said only in movies. Ha. I am ancient.

I digress once more. When the guys came in the house, the cats ran under the bed. When they began to dismantle the bed, the cats hauled ass to points unknown. I could not find either one of them, but I knew they didn't escape out the door, because I was guarding it. I didn't see Ringo for about 5 minutes after they left, when he came crawling out from under my library table. I didn't see hide nor hair of Toby.

Even rustling the new sheets didn't bring him out. This is a cat who is famous for playing "Lumpy Bed". Every morning when I climb out of bed, I turn around to make it up, and Toby is dead smack in the middle of it. I simply make it up anyway, letting him play his way out of the midst of the sheets. Of course this ritual is accompanied by "Where's the cat?" Pat, pat, pat around on the bed. I come back later to smooth the sheets. So where the hell was Toby?

I was putting the pillowslips on the new pillows when I looked up and he was doing the jungle cat slink into the bedroom. You know...like he was approaching a herd of gazelle on the Serengeti, low to the ground, move a couple steps forward, hide in the dense underbrush of the carpet. He had the most WTF expression. Wish I'd had a video camera. I'd have won on America's funniest video show. (Well, maybe not. It wouldn't have involved hitting a guy in the nuts, which seems to be a recurring theme there.)

Not long afterward, the domestic goddess and the two resident felines were most deliciously napping on the new bed. A nap that lasted five hours. I guess I was tired. Man, I love my new bed.

A firm-ative action

When's the last time you bought a mattress? I went out today in search of Mama Bear's perfect bed, and found out more than I want to know about them.

I don't need the box spring, or foundation, or whatever they call it now. I have an antique bed, and only the mattress will fit on it, and barely, as it's a bit shorter than the standard now. People just weren't as tall a hundred fifty or so years ago, I suppose, because this bed is only 72 inches long between the headboard and the footboard. Matters not for me, as I am only 60 inches tall.

I inherited this bed in 1975 from my great aunt, and she had told me that she inherited it in the 1930's from a doctor she used to work for, and he was born in that bed. He was 80 when he died. It's an OLD bed. I don't even want to think what that thing has seen.

It still has the mattress on it that my great aunt had. Goodness knows how old the thing is. The bedspring underneath is an open type spring that makes a very satisfying squeak when you get on the bed. It's been the guest bed (I've had very few guests) until last year, when I moved out on my own, and I've been sleeping on it since. Or attempting to sleep on it. This old cotton tick may be the reason for my insomnia.

I looked up the major brands of mattresses on the web, found who sells what in town, and set off to see what is out there. The first place I went, there was a buzzer on the front door that sounded as I walked in. I saw some movement in the far end of the large showroom, but no one spoke to me. I have a rule of thumb. If a salesperson does not greet me in some manner in two minutes, I leave. All they have to do is acknowledge my presence; that is good enough, because I will wait my turn. This first fellow almost didn't make the cut, and there was no one else in the showroom.

When a store is full of mattresses, and one is rather obviously looking at the bedding, the question "What may I help you with today?" seems quite silly. I had an overwhelming urge to say I wanted to buy a sofa. I asked if this store would sell me only a mattress, not a set, and the salesman said he could order me one, but people never buy full size mattresses anymore unless they are for kids' beds, so they don't stock the better mattresses in that size. He tried to sell me up in size, but I countered with this is an heirloom bed and I am determined to have a new mattress for it. About that time, a pretty young thing in a very short skirt waltzes in, and he drops me to wait on her. "Try some of them out", he says, and abandons me amidst a sea of foam mattresses. I left.

Another place in town sells a good brand, so I stopped by there. This store also sells only mattresses; in fact it's called Mattress King. Surely they have something in here for me. Some fat guy is sitting at a desk in the middle of the showroom, diddling around on a computer, from my angle looking like he's playing a game. About 30 seconds after I come through the door, he finally greets me and bellows out to someone in the back that there is a customer.

The fellow comes out of the back, and politely tells me he has a truck unloading in the back and he will be right back. He looks vaguely familiar. I go start looking at the price tags and bouncing on the beds. (I didn't really bounce, but I did lie down on them.) The beds are nice, but so are the prices. Holy crap, Batman! Can I afford to get a decent mattress?

By the time he returns, I have worked my way down the line, feeling like Goldilocks at the Bear residence. Some of them are too soft, some of them are totally unyielding. Then I found "just right". Of course, it was about the top of the line. The only thing I could do to make it more expensive would be to custom order the outer fabric. He asks about the wants and needs, and he suggests I might consider the new ultra foam mattress because that would certainly fit my bed. I tried one out, and it's comfy enough, but he could not give me a decent answer about how when this "memory foam" would develop dementia. I went back to the standard type.

When I mentioned to him I only wanted the mattress, not the underneath part, he did a sudden backpedal and said "Oh, we can't honor a warranty on the mattress if you don't buy the set". What the hell is a warranty on a mattress anyway? I told him I wasn't going to use it for a trampolene, so I wasn't worried about a warranty. Geez.

Ok, down to the price. He told me he could knock off $300 for the box springs. Then he started in about financing. Whoa. I am going to pay cash for this thing. How about a discount, mister? I think he must have sold cars at one time, because he did the old calculator thing back at the desk, then came back with a roughly ten percent discount.

I ask for his card and write the info down on the back. Then it hits me and him about the same time. I see his name, and it's the guy who lived next door to me when we first bought our house. He had moved down the street to another house a couple years later. He asked what my last name was, and I replied it wasn't the same as it used to be, and I didn't live there any more. A little embarrassing, after the trampolene comment. I told him that I was still shopping, but the deal looked promising, and I left.

I still have one more place in town to look, maybe two. But buying a mattress is a big commitment. This is the last one I will ever buy. I need to do it right this time.

Free at last, free at last...

I just paid off my final car note. I took a small leap of faith that a large check I've been expecting from a client would be here soon, and paid it off. Now that Inferno Red 2000 Plymouth Breeze is mine, all mine. Lock stock and single barrel carb. Hooo-ahhhh.

This comes one day short of five years since my infamous rollover through the cottonfields of Arkansas. That car was paid off, too. I almost am afraid to go out and drive it, for fear of the prospect of something happening to this one, too. But, this is why a person pays insurance, no?

Off I go, to the post office. I will try to not let this joyous occasion make me too complacent about my driving.

I shall be blasting the music of the Daredevil album in celebration!