Fresh Brewed Humor
One of my favorite places may not be an appealing sought after vacation spot, but I love this place because it represents my family, friendships, communication, comfort, and love. It’s the place I look forward to and reflect on after a long week of stressful activities as well as tension from deadlines and appointments. My place is void of judgment, stereotypes, pressures, and negative opinions. Only comfort, relaxation, love and humor are found here. In my place you can laugh, cry, and be loved regardless of the week behind, the week ahead, or the night before. My place has intelligent conversation and fresh ideas.
Freedom. Total acceptance.
All who long for acceptance, all who have found its secret, and all who know how to get there, welcome.
My place is on my king sized bed.
My bed is not any old bed with signs of use and abuse, it is an invitation on Sunday mornings to read the comics, laugh with family and friends in pajamas, and sip on hot coffee, a tradition started by my mother when I was a young girl.
The morning begins with the aroma of fresh coffee, lovingly brewed by my thirteen-year-old son, Brendyn. I hear the giggles in the hall, and the not-so-silent tiptoes of my children as they approach my bedroom door. My teenage daughter Kayleigh enters with a soft knock of warning, carrying a special mug of coffee resting on a napkin where she has drawn pictures and written a note of “I love you.” Behind her comes Brendyn with a similar mug for his stepfather. Soon thereafter, my two youngest, Christopher and Ryan, join us as they bring in my yogurt and the Sunday paper. My seventeen-year-old stepson Kyle has already joined us amidst the traffic and laughter. As we all sit on my bed, my children at my feet and my husband Jon at my side, we read the comics. We recall the humor of the past week so we can laugh again. On occasion, we have friends who arrive in their pajamas, just for coffee and conversation, all sitting on my bed. My brother Nathan, who lives across the street with his family, joins us occasionally bearing an empty mug and wild pajamas. My children’s friends compete to spend the night on Saturday night, knowing full well what awaits them on Sunday morning.
My bed is about my friends, my family, and our bonding time together, which is the only time my teenagers get along. The mood in my special place is veiled by a halo of peace and all can be discussed with love and not malice. When I was a child, we gathered on my mother’s bed on Wednesday evenings to share life and laughter. My mother reinforced the ideal that there is more importance in sharing life than maintaining a smooth bed.
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