Dreamwork

I couldn't sleep the other night. I had already been in bed the better part of 2 hours and still felt wide awake. Most of us have had times when the more we try, the harder it is to rest, so I decided to get up. I thought wandering the house for awhile would be better than tossing and turning until 4:00 a.m. in the morning.
It always seems so quiet in my house after midnight. You can even hear the clocks ticking. Something I never notice in the daylight hours.
Very different than daytime, when usually it is anything but quiet here. Living on the main road going through town, there are always cars buzzing up and down in a constant effort to get to, who knows where. Back and forth, then back and forth again. If you sit there frequently you notice many go by only to see them headed the opposite way only a few minutes later. (When we had small foster children or grandbabies we would sit on the glider on the front deck and entertain the little ones just watching the cars pass by. "There goes a red truck, that way! There goes a black car, that way! Opps, we almost missed that red one!") Daily, we have constant activity at the legal services and phycologist offices next door and to add to the noise level, we also live in a dog friendly neighborhood with dogs that frequently enjoy barking at each other. People are in and out of the house, the young man next door has a motorcycle as do his friends, the washer or dryer are often running and the TV is on several hours each day.
So as I was saying "quiet" is not the norm throughout the day.
But, late in the night it is different. Occasionally a car passes or you hear the hum of an oncoming train and the sound of it's warning whistle. Listen closely and you will hear the whistle at every major crossing throughout town. Five in all. It is a familiar, comforting quiet.
I sat down in the small, upholstered, rocker that I bought from a sweet neighbor several years ago. She had fallen and was moveing to an assisted living home. I bought the chair because Mom was coming to stay with us and it reminded of the little rocker she used at home. At the time I didn't care much for the style, but, I thought she would be comfortable sitting in it. I was right. She was so pleased that she would not sit in any other chair for more than short periods of time. She said it felt just like sitting in her own chair at home. So I was very glad I had it. Now that she is gone I have come to love the little chair, because, when I sit down and close my eyes I see her sitting there reading, doing her crossword puzzles or crocheting and I remember the pleasure it gave her. It makes me feel like she is close by.
A little while later I got up, but, I was still not ready to go back to my own bed. So I went into our middle bedroom and laid down on the old iron bed that once belonged to Wayne's grandparents. Lying there I thought back to the years of raising our children, (this was our son Kelly's room) and the foster children that shared our home. It is the smallest of the three bedrooms, but, it is quite amazing how much furniture you could put in there. We once had a double bed, a set of bunk beds, 2 chests of drawers and a very large bookshelf that covered most of one entire wall. Admittedly, there was not a lot of room to spare, but, it worked for our purposes at the time. I've often wondered why people today seem to think they need to have such large houses.
Now, Wayne and I use the front bedroom, (our daughter, April's room). It is next to the bathroom and is bright and sunny when we wake up. We enjoy sleeping there although, I admit, I do miss the big closet in the back room. The bedroom that originally was ours is now the TV room, or, as we joke, it is his (Man's Room). Actually, it really is Wayne's room and I have even tried to decorate it with him in mind.
As I was laying on the old bed I got a little chilly and pulled a quilt over myself.
I was finally getting very sleepy, but, before I dozed off, I realized I had wrapped myself in a quilt that my Grandma Price had made for me when I was just a small girl. It is now quite tattered and I don't usually use it much anymore because of it's condition. The quilt has many small, bright colored pieces of material in it. It is made of shirts my daddy and brothers wore, and pieces of dresses and aprons that Momma and Grandma wore and so many other little bits of our lives. Each with a memory, perhaps a skirt that belonged to one of my sisters or peddle pushers (capris) that were made for me, there are even several small pices that were the same as the little dresses my sister had made for my precious baby doll. They are faded memories, some I can't quite bring into focus. Faded but like the quilt, they are memories that mean so much to me. Memories that take me back and connect me to my past.
In many ways life is like that patchwork quilt. Lots and lots of tiny peices, some more important than others but all of them connected, held togather and connected by the threads of history.
My memories carried me to sleep that night. I was no longer restless but wrapped in the love of my special family and I slept peacefully until morning.