My grand-mother and my mother after her more or less bragged about the fact that they never got out of bed before noon. My mother would not be sleeping until then, having breakfasted alone at dawn, but most important plans, imperative telephone calls as well as hearing our daily demands would be made from her bed, her kingdom, as she called it.
My father’s opinion of such free manners was clearly torn: his strict Scottish up-bringing probably led him to think of my mother as totally decadent. At the same time, he must have been fascinated by this completely shameless pleasure-seeking behaviour as the many breakfast trays he lovingly brought to her bear witness.
Louis XIV bedroom and cabinet in Versailles from where he entered the Grand Levee (washed,dressed & breakfast) and held his Council of State.
My sister and I get up early and go to work and after decades of looking at our beds as evil objects of sinful laziness we recently confessed to each other being irresistibly drawn to it.
I’m writing from my bed right now. And if I don’t hurry, it’ll soon be noon.
What? I have confidently come to terms with the realisation that my bed brings together so many of the things I long for during the day without even knowing it. I am a busy bee, I get up at around six, I can hardly wait to go to my shop and I love a walk in the forest as much as the next Norwegian, but it brings me such comfort to know that I can also retire to my secret hideaway.
My own Paradise with my own Alabaster bed linen made of soft egyptian cotton
Not to a room with a bed in it but, to a place of absolute silence where in the deliciousness and extremely pleasurable touch and feel of soft, snow white and fluffy bed linen dreamy sensations of unconscious baby in the womb memories can make their way into a too often stressed out state of mind. Then I feel safe.