I have new-to-me mattress and springs on my bed. The old set, which had come from my parents’ house, had seen better days. I now have what had been in our guest room. I enjoyed the sleeping for several months until I thought about the life of my bed. It was getting unfair usage and had no way to protest. John sleeps in a chair, so he was not part of the equation. I flipped the topper once a month so that it would get even wear. That did nothing for the support underneath.

My children laugh with/at me for stretching out and saying, “I love my bed.” It all started when I was recovering from knee surgery ten years ago. After being in the hospital and rehab, it was beyond marvelous to be back in my own bed. That phrase was a four-word prayer of thanksgiving. Daughter Lise and grandson David sometimes come in my room just to hear me say it again. In this tenth year, it’s more likely to be thankfulness for getting through the day in one piece.

Without meaning to, I was mistreating my bed. I still sleep on half the bed, and that half was taking all the responsibility – full weight, you understand – of giving me a good night’s sleep. How could I show my love for the bed? Turning the heavy box springs and mattress around regularly was beyond me. That’s why I now switch sides of the bed once a week. All three layers get a breather at the same time.

Switching is not easy for humans. You might not want to try this at home, folks. I need to open my eyes before turning over, so that I don’t roll off while thinking I’m on the other side of the bed. The phone (more important as an alarm clock than a communication device), has to be on the table next to me. It’s easier to reach from one side than the other. Since the bed is now several inches higher than before, I need a stool just to get in it. That has to be shifted weekly, as it also serves as a marker to remind me which side I should be on. So far I haven’t tripped over it in the daytime.

I love my bed.