Staying in bed – à la Fiona

Toronto, Ontario
October 3, 2022

The other day I, too, didn’t get out of bed.  This was not an existential moment in keeping with one of my favourite Russian books called Oblomov, about a nobleman who decided to spend the rest of his life in bed.  In fact, there was absolutely no particular reason, neither medical nor emotional; rather, I just felt an overwhelming desire to indulge in a rare sense of lassitude. My life has been blessed in that I have seldom faced the morning with dread (medical issues notwithstanding) as my work and family life have brought me nothing but joy and satisfaction, so I was, fortunately, never driven to call upon that deeply instilled Protestant work ethic to launch me into the day.

So, my day in bed – well,  rather like the lady in your picture, I put on my most comfortable bed jacket (shantung silk bought in China years ago) and surrounded myself with a few of life’s small pleasures; a challenging crossword puzzle, the daily sudoku, a particularly gripping novel that I had been chewing my way through, a decent pot of coffee with a dish of whipped cream on the side, the phone close to hand should friends call as they are wont to do on a Sunday, and finally a small collection of cat toys with which to entertain Mr. Raffi, our exceptionally rambunctious, long-hair tabby who was totally puzzled by my day-long prone position. I eschewed the daily paper-reading ritual and even turned off the Ipad so that emails would not beckon.

Gratefully, I’m married to a man who is a maestro in the kitchen and was prepared to provide nourishment throughout my indulgence.  At regular interludes a tray would arrive with tempting dishes; everything from eggs Benedict complete with fresh asparagus on the side and a bowl of strawberries to a lunch of homemade soup and fresh bread and more berries.  Later in the afternoon, a pot of St. Clair tea (from my ancestral tea plantation in Sri Lanka, started by my great, great grandfather in the 1850s and still in existence today – a story for another time) along with a small box of four perfect, chocolate truffles.

It was a day of no significant accomplishments other than to create a cocoon of peacefulness that quietly massaged my sense of being.  Our bedroom has 3 bay windows that look east and south out of our much beloved Victorian townhouse, and the sun obligingly moved round the room casting across the bed and over the walls, a lacy patina of leafy shadows from the trees that line our street.  By a sheer fluke the small townhouses across from us, have windows that, by the late afternoon, reflect the setting sun back into the bedroom in a shower of golden light.  It was a perfect setting in which I did not mull over my lassitude, nor have any revealing thoughts.  I just switched off all but my sensory perceptions and let them drift.  Think about it.  How often does one do this for one’s soul?

Come dinner time, I did decide to put in an appearance and after a warm bath and redolent in a soft haze of rosewater, I donned a fresh negligee (no granny-style nighties for me yet!) and another silk robe (sorry, no retro 1950s kitten slippers), and after adding a blush of make-up, descended to the dining room where the wine awaited along with another delicious meal.  Bliss both internal and external and no matter if it is another year or another season before I slip back into the sublime,  for now, it nourished my being fully.  And, let it be noted:  this was totally unplanned.  Just a whim, a spur of the moment savouring of a sweet, and I admit, somewhat decadent recline for which I make absolutely no apology.