I don't mind being a symbol but I don't want to become a monument. There are monuments all over the Parliament Buildings and I've seen what the pigeons do to them.                                                                              - Tommy Douglas        

         I have just returned from my school’s 8^th grade trip to Washington D.C. Home of our nation’s history and too many monuments. As a former history minor, I loved it though the trip was grueling and a bit too dramatic for my taste. Mount Vernon is my favorite and the new MLK monument was exciting to see. But all these landmarks to great men (and a minor statue to Lady Roosevelt) have lead me to ask: Are challenging situations just obstacles or do they make up our identity? and Do we build monuments to emotional pain to remind us how far we’ve come or how far we still have to go?     

      There is no secret that you will not like every single person that crosses your path. On the trip there were a few other chaperones that seem so angry and disappointed in life that I wondered if they would ever change. Which made me wonder: Could I change as well? What monuments did I have in my life which were blocking my path? One chaperone is perpetually single and complains about it so much it has become part of her identity. I have known her for several years and her man issue is what she mostly talks about and it has grown to be her shtick. Once I tried to tell her that maybe she just had timing to listen to and she nearly took off my head. Her disappointment and loneliness, which I completely understood, was a monument, an asset/liability to her identity. Was I doing the same?How could I stop this?  I did a brief meditation walking to our chartered plane and I got a simple answer: buy a new bed.   

   What? The first step to better, easier life? Well, I bought my old bed from a guy nine years ago when I did a UM summer program, it had been in his mother’s guest bedroom for ten years. I don’t remember how much I paid for it, but I was thrilled. The last time I had had a virgin bed, I was 12 and was excited to get a Sealy Posturpedic.  I bought new sheets and felt fabulous. My UM bed was new to me, then the years went by and not so much. I bought a temperpedic knockoff mattress pad and the bed that was wearing out felt luxurious. In fact, I overslept the first morning because it was too comfortable. Then my pet pig peed one it and I tried to wash it-big mistake. Piggy stank pad reeked for a week. Then I bought another mattress pad to make up for all of that when I tried to throw away the knockoff pad. Way too many pads right? Last summer after by back was hurting; I had my handywoman put a piece of plywood under my bed to make up for my broken box spring.  There were 3 or 4 layers to my bed now. The sheets never stayed on properly and I was always stuffy when I woke up. My nephew complained the middle sagged and I started to be annoyed by my once loved bed. Was the universe right? 

   Of course.  I went with my neighbor to peruse trundles to gauge the firmness.  I wanted a memory foam, but thought I would settle for a coil mattress with my old tempurpedic knockoff pad on top to save money. But the more I thought about it and the tremendous deals at the furniture outlet store convinced me that I did indeed deserve a new bed. Now I have a discontinued memory foam mattress that feels like heaven.  May I have many new dreams and lovers on it.  

   During the removal process, my handywoman collected my old pallet and I felt proud that not only could I afford a new bed, but was getting one I really wanted. She packed it up and asked me how I slept on this monstrosity for so long after she removed each layer. How? Because in some way I was afraid to really want something that could eventually be taken away. I was afraid that I was going to be punished for having something that I always wanted. So when it came time to wave good-bye to my old bed as it was mounted on top of  the truck, I paused to remember the old lovers and dreams that had rested in that dilapidated monument of loneliness. Fuck you, I thought, I have better now.