sup beloveds,
i’m moving this weekend (sort of… long story… don’t worry about the details). while i have been in the process of moving i noticed my dad’s bed was made.
a small detail, but one i noticed.
in the midst of all the chaos of moving, here was one small place of order.
and to clarify, not just made, but made well. i mean it wasn’t blankets thrown over the top and pulled slightly.
it was smoothed out.
no wrinkles.
it was tucked in and folded over at the top.
there was no mint on the pillow….. but it would have fit the vibe.
and here’s the thing:
he didn’t make it.
my mom did.
she always makes his bed.
i’ve seen her make it for 27 years.
she makes it when she’s mad at him and when she’s in love with him and anything in between.
their marriage is far from perfect (as they would tell you themselves). but hey, his bed is always made.
they’ve been married 40 years. seems like the bed being made is a small part in a larger reality, but it really grabbed my attention for some reason.
and as i observed this it seemed to me a wisdom was emerging in my heart: always make the bed.
in a poem i wrote, i talked about “making love even when love is not being made.” it seems to me making the bed day in and day out – in sickness and in health, when i’m happy with you and when i’m so pissed at you i can’t even see straight – is one key to a 40 year marriage.
i cant say for sure.
i’ve never been married for 40 years.
hell, i’m divorced now, but it seems true.
i’m open to correction if i’m reading this wrong, but i have a hunch i’m seeing something true even though it’s outside of my own lived experience.
so my advice to myself as i look to the future: make the bed in season and out of season.
when i’m head over heels, make the bed.
when i’m pissed, make the bed.
when i’m on top of it, make the bed.
when i’m exhausted, make the bed.
no matter what,
make. the. bed.
hope this helps,
a.
