My bed: a memoir.

When I was in NoCal, aka Sonoma County, a few weeks ago, visiting my darling friend, I slept in a sublime bed. Sonoma County is dry and hot in the summer, and the bedroom was upstairs, so you'd a thought it would be hot, and therefore the plethora of downy blankets and throws would be unbearable. But instead, the bed was heavenly. I opened the window and the night got airier; the weird science of down inside of cotton was cool and lofty.

I got home and took a critical eye to the bed we sleep in each night. By "critical" I mean "whiny." What the hell is the matter with this bed? I asked. Why do I spring from it, insomnia-ridden and sleepless, plenty of nights, and why is it so freaking uncomfortable?

As it turns out, dear readers--and you may not have actually been in a location we call a "store" where they sell all sorts of materials called "bedding," so this may come as a shock--you can make your bed more comfortable by buying downy blankets and puffy mattress covers, and here's another tip--you can turn your mattress over.

I have transformed the daily/nightly bed into a much more splendid place. In fact, it's become a little obsession. Today, I stopped into Target (the holy city) and found 600-thread count sheets at a fetching discount. These will go with the new-ish puffy mattress cover and lovely, lightweight cotton-covered lofty down blanket. And, in what must have been kismet, these sheets are an elegant shade of bluish gray.

In conclusion, good night.

The shopper reports.

The last ten things I bought:

1. loaf of pain au levain at Pierre's
2. shrimp pad thai
3. potato chips
4. frozen lemonade
5. walking shoes (gray in case you're interested)
6. black nightgown
7. set of drinking glasses, with one missing
8. embossed tin box
9. USA Today (for the crossword!)
10. packet of Poppycock

Gray.

Within recent memory, I declared to anyone who reads the sidematter on my blog that I would buy no more gray clothes forever (earlier in the sidematter: gray is the new black, in case you needed to track the twists and turns of the style advice from me). So it will no doubt surprise all readers to hear that I have, within the last several weeks, purchased

• gray flats
• a gray and white striped tee shirt
• a gray skirt
• another gray shirt
• another gray shirt
• gray espadrilles
  
• a sheer gray sweater, and
  
• a scarf that is striped black and white, which two colors, as any student in a seventh grade art class can tell you, when mixed together, turn into . . . gray.

I don't know what this says, except that gray--so pearly, so silvery, so moody, so very like weather, one thing and then another, so not black and not white but possessing the loveliest qualities of each--calls my name. It is, apparently, my neutral. I'm not even sure I understand why I decided no more gray in the first place. Why not gray? Why not an all gray, white, and black wardrobe? with only silver jewelry?

Because in addition to having a gray fetish, I am also a fool for colors, that's why--lately, navy blue and yellow. However, I feel the world has only recently caught up with my gray madness--lovely gray things everywhere I turn. If you run into me, the chances are very good that I will be dressed like a cloudy day. Like a cloudy day, about to rain. I sort of hope, however, that if you run into me, I am not shopping. Like style advice, my stance toward shopping sparkles and fades a little.