Tag Archives: Sleeping

I’ll sleep when I’m dead (or at least when my brand is dead)

Martha Stewart sleeps 4 hours a night.

Poor Martha.

She might have been the first lifestyle queen, and she made billions doing it, what with the name-brand bed skirts and magazine(s) and television show, but after that prison stint, I don’t think she’s going to catch the cute Rachael Ray or I’ve-got-my-OWN-television-network Oprah Winfrey. People today want a 30-minute-meal lifestyle or a possibly a fully-realized-self lifestyle, but I don’t think they want a three-course-dinner-party-that-takes-three-months-of-decorating-and-making-handprinted-placecards-and-cooking lifestyle anymore.

Martha’s time has passed, I guess. According to the newspaper story I read yesterday, her television show on the Hallmark Channel bombed. It didn’t even get as many viewers as reruns of “The Golden Girls” in the same time slot on the same channel a year ago. Oh, dear.

So the 69-year-old is sleeping 4 hours a night trying to expand her merchandising empire which, according to the newspaper story, is where her company makes most of its money. Martha Stewart dog sweaters or Martha Stewart kitchen cabinets anyone?

Isn’t it ironic that the woman who is capitalizing on 400-count sheets and hand-stitched comforters sleeps only 4 hours a night?

Who are you? And why won’t you go to bed with me?

Visiting with an 80-year-old man from my church recently, we talked about his ill wife.

She’s 80-something, too, and recently was admitted to the hospital. She really ought to be living in some sort of care facility, he said, but he just can’t face that eventuality. They’ve been married 58 years.

Besides whatever physical ailments she’s enduring right now, she’s also experiencing memory problems.

The worst part, he said, is when they’re at home, and it’s bedtime. He is about to get into bed with her, and she asks, “Who are you? Why are you getting into bed with me?”

Heart breaking. I say a silent prayer for this kind old man even as I write this.

It got me wondering: Why was she remembering a time before her marriage when she normally went to bed by herself, rather than remembering 58 years of going to bed with this man? Why did her mind, when stripped bare and devoid of comfortable memories, think she ought to be going to bed alone?

One of the best things about being married, I think, is sleeping with someone else. (Really, I’m talking about the actual sleeping, not a euphemism for, well, going to bed with someone — also a great part of being married, but not for discussion in this forum.)

There’s this smooth, warm body next to you, breathing softly (or maybe familiarly snoring). Maybe you whisper to each other in dark or cuddle up. There’s comfort in knowing you’re not alone in this world as you drift off to sleep. It’s glorious.

So, I think that if I ever get Alzheimer’s, instead of wanting to go to bed alone, I will be the crazy old lady who asks the unfortunate soul who ends their day with me, “Who are you? And where are you going? I don’t like sleeping alone!”