A long time ago (by some reckonings) or not so long ago (by others), I decided that I wanted two twin beds that could be linked together somehow to make a king-sized bed. Because? Because I knew that I would be moving at least several more times in my life, and it’s easier to move smaller beds and mattresses. And sometimes I am in a relationship and want a big bed available, and sometimes I’m not and prefer sleeping alone in a single bed and using the other bed to pile my clothes on until I get around to hanging them up. When I’m not in a relationship, I tend to let my housekeeping skills (meager at best) to really slide.
O.K. Now, cut to another scene, happening simultaneously, wherein I decide to take a re-birthing workshop, since I’m always looking for ways to help me understand who the hell I am and why, for example, I want two beds that have the choice of either being together or apart.
So, I sign up for the re-birthing class and get buddied with a nice counter-cultural guy, who, it turns out, is a furniture maker. (The re-birthing experience is a story unto itself — which I might or might not tell at some other time; this tale is about the two beds.)
I figure, wow! Synchronicity! I want beds that I can’t seem to find in stores. I don’t want headboards or footboards. I want platforms not box springs. I want them easy to move. I want them linkable. I meet someone who designs and makes unusual but simple furniture. It’s fate.
We sit down together in his shop to figure out if he can do what I want. Yes, he can. And he can construct them so that the pieces fit tongue-in-groove and are held together by large bolts so that I can deconstruct them when I want to move them. And, yes, he can design a couple of U-shaped wooden clamps that attach to the moved-together bed frames with velcro. Voila! Two separate beds that merge when necessary and also can stay appropriately separate should that be my choice.
Aha! A metaphor. And, my furniture-making re-birthing partner informed me after the fact, it was a metaphor which, at that point in his life, was extremely meaningful. It helped him to make a relationship decision with which he had been struggling for a while.
Now, since my one-bedroom apartment is so small, I only use the one single bed and put the other as an extra in my mother’s much larger apartment. (You can see how that choice affects other choices in my current life. Sigh. But someday, I’ll move again, and then perhaps there’ll be another joining.)
And now my mother has decided that she wants a wooden-framed couch that can be used if yet another person sleeps over. (Christmas this year, with the new grandson visiting, will probably mean a full house…er… apartment…for the holiday.) We looked at futons. She doesn’t like them. Too bulky big.
So, I track down my rebirthing buddy on the web. Of course; isn’t everyone on the web these days? We email back and forth, and he’ll have a design and estimate for me next week sometime. I’ll have to figure out where to buy (or how to make) the cushions, but first things first.
I have yet to discover any momentous metaphor emanating from this possible project. But I sure won’t be surprised if one of us does by the time the couch takes it’s final form. It’s what I expect. After all, I’m the Crone.