Clean Sheets

I was away for the weekend and was fortunate to have a house-sitter here to take care of my cat and my gardens.  As is our routine now, Libby stripped the bed before she left and put the used sheets and towels in the laundry room.  Before I could climb into my own bed (always a good thing after sleeping in a motel), obviously, I had to make the bed.  I selected summery sheets, a leafy green color.  They were so clean and crisp.  Slept like a baby.

My son, the college graduate, arrived home an hour ago.  He is unpacking his car now, but I know that after he's done that, he will be happy to crawl into his own bed here.  And yes, the sheets are clean.

I can still remember coming home from college and sleeping in my own bed.  There was nothing like it.  I think I can still smell the clean sheets.  Or maybe that was just the smell of home.

Clean sheets.  Such a simple thing to fall in love with.  But the rewards are multi-faceted.  They smell good, they feel good, they tell us that somebody loved us enough to make sure the sheets were clean (even if that "somebody" was the same person who climbed into the bed).

Most importantly, I think, clean sheets remind us that there is always a way to start over, to "come clean," to be refreshed, to be treated as if we deserve . . . clean sheets.

I deserve clean sheets.  And I love that I do.