+ Her Barefoot Heart

Tag: sleep

to sleep or not to sleep

i occasionally have trouble sleeping. as in getting to sleep and staying asleep, so the morning after finds me conducting bleary-eyed woman-in-the-street interviews asking a single question: how on earth do you capture the attention and affection of the sandman? here, my friends, is my collection of answers:

~ don’t drink alcohol.
~ have a glass of wine every night.
~ take a shower.
~ take a bath.
~ down a sleeping pill.
~ exercise before bedtime.
~ don’t exercise before bedtime.
~ splurge on silk sheets.
~ get soft sheets.
~ get a soft pillow.
~ get a firm pillow.
~ buy a soft mattress or a firm mattress or a memory foam mattress.
~ make the room completely dark.
~ develop a bedtime ritual and stick to it.
~ go to bed at the same time every night.
~ keep the room cooler than the inside of your refrigerator.
~ make the pets sleep somewhere else.
~ slather lotion on your feet and chapstick on your lips.
~ lay your clothes out the night before.
~ eat light suppers.
~ eat heavy suppers.
~ play music.
~ play nature sounds.
~ watch tv.
~ don’t watch tv.
~ prop your legs up with pillows.
~ read.
~ light a lavender scented candle.
~ don’t take an afternoon nap, I don’t care how tired you are.

my grandmother slept on a feather mattress with a glass of water and a flashlight on the floor beside her. my brother keeps his room so cold that on any given day you can see your breath. my cousin sleeps with one and paper within arm’s reach.

my children declare they sleep best when under the quilt my grandmother made for me.

i find that some of these things work, some don’t. mostly I find that when I travel, I sleep the first 3 days. maybe i should just become a full-time vagabond.

never have liked oatmeal all that much

targetonmush.JPG

we have lived in a hurricane of activity the past 72 hours. focused, but nevertheless chaotic. in my head right now, a small jeanne wears hip boots, and tromps  around in a large vat of squishy oatmeal (steel cut, of course. and no sugar.) in search of words and phrases that can be pieced together to tell the story.

 

she finds no words or phrases, this tiny bootclad jeanne, only oats.

 

tomorrow, perhaps. after another 11 hour sleep, maybe then i’ll be past the oatmeal effect and will be back to tell you my . . . our . . . story.