Letter to CEO of Mattress Discounters (the west coast version of the company)

To:  Mr. Dale Carlsen, CEO of Mattress Discounters 

Re:  Replacement box springs/foundation

Dear Mr. Carlsen:

In August 2012, I purchased a mattress, box springs, and bed frame from the Mattress Discounters located in Pleasant Hill, CA (Invoice #5XXXXXXXX). Actually, a kindhearted relative purchased it for me. (I am unable to find work in the San Francisco Bay Area at the moment and I have a young daughter, so as you can imagine money is pretty tight.) I desperately needed a new one as my old one was begging to be put out of its misery and long ago had given up any attempts to contain the metal coils within it. This was very painful. The protruding sharp metal coils, I mean.

When choosing the merchant from whom to purchase my new mattress, I chose Mattress Discounters without a second thought. I had purchased my very first mattress and box springs from a Mattress Discounters in Richmond, VA in 1999. I was 22 years old (and broke then, too! Ugh.) and was deliriously happy to be moving into my first apartment and starting graduate school. I stumbled upon a Mattress Discounters on W. Broad St. The sales associate was incredibly friendly and helpful and assisted me in locating a mattress and box springs set that fit my meager teaching assistant budget. I'm pretty sure it was the least expensive mattress in the whole store but I didn't care. I had my own place and I wouldn't be sleeping on my hardwood floors in the humid summer heat another night.

Since my experience with the east coast Mattress Discounters was so positive and my budget mattress lasted long beyond its projected lifespan before giving up the ghost, I decided to purchase from the west coast Mattress Discounters.  My initial second experience was also positive: the sales associate was efficient and helpful, my order arrived promptly, and the first few weeks on the new bed were absolutely blissful. During what was, I believe, our second month of new bed ownership, the trouble began. As my partner and I were settling in for the night, I turned over to go to sleep and we heard the cracking of wood from below the bed.  (I'm going to be honest, Mr. Carlsen: it didn't do much for my self-esteem.)  After a few more weeks there was a second sound of wood splitting from beneath the bed. Gradually, the problem progressed to the point at which we find ourselves today. 

I believe we were fairly “normal” users of the bed. If anything, we have been very LIGHT users of the bed. I am the mother of a toddler and a chronic insomniac; I am not in the bed nearly as much as I would like to be. My partner works hard and has a long commute; he is also not in the bed as nearly much as he would like to be. No one is jumping on the bed. There is no rough-housing on the bed unless you count my one year-old daughter diving into the pillows and blankets in order to evade having her jammies put on at night. As for other strenuous activities that often go on in folks' beds, well, Mr. Carlsen, as I mentioned we are the parents of a small child. We are tired. We are stressed about our finances. Let's just say this bed has had an easy life thus far.

The cracking and breaking of the wooden slats in the box spring/foundation portion of the bed has gotten out of control at this point. Each half of the bed sags dramatically so that sleeping in it is akin to curling up inside a taco. It's actually not as fun as it sounds. We have to roll uphill to get to the center of the mattress as well as to the outer edge. As a result I have started having some pretty severe back problems and I am now shuffling and limping and groaning around the house. It's very painful, Mr. Carlsen. I cannot afford to see a chiropractor. My partner and I switch off as to who “gets” to sleep on the couch in the living room.

I contacted your customer service center, and Rose Bauer in Sacramento, CA called me back in a timely manner. At her request, I photographed the mattress and box springs on top and underneath. I also took a picture of the splinters of wood of varying sizes and metal staples that now regularly litter my bedroom floor. (Please recall the oft-mentioned small child in my home. I don't know if you have children yourself, Mr. Carlsen, but babies and toddlers try to eat everything.) Ms. Bauer called me on Friday, May 11 to let me know that she'd spoken with her supervisor because she had some questions, and it was decided that there was so much breakage that it was due to damage on our part and not due to being defective and therefore would not be replaced under warranty. I emphasized to her that we had NOT damaged our box springs. (Honestly, why would we do this?) The men delivered the frame, mattress, and box springs and set them up for us and we haven't even so much as flipped the mattress in the interim. (I know I'm supposed to do it every six months. At least that's what Martha Stewart recommends.) Ms. Bauer repeated the conclusion that the box springs were considered damaged and not defective, and she was happy to offer me a 40% discount on the purchase of a new one.

Is Ms. Bauer accusing me of being untruthful? It feels like she is and I really have an issue with that. Also: spend more money at a Mattress Discounters after this? I don't think so.

I really hope you can help make this right, Mr. Carlsen. I do not believe I am asking for anything unreasonable. I love the mattress. I just need something to put it on that isn't going to collapse if I happen to have eaten dessert that evening. One only purchases so many mattresses in their lifetime; I have now gotten both of mine from Mattress Discounters and, in my opinion, that makes me a pretty good customer. I would appreciate being treated as such.

Sincerely,

Amie X. Xxxxxxxx

Mine and yours

"...and all this was happening around 500 B.C. You know, when the Greeks were doing their thing.  In my region--not your region.  I don't know what yours were doing at that time.  Fucking sheep, probably."

A portion of Ivan's account of a chapter on Buddhism he'd recently enjoyed in a book on world religion, and one of many reminders that his Balkan ancestors are superior to my Northern European ones.

Today 2/14/13

I am putting them in the closet in a labeled box instead of getting rid of them. 

Just in case.

The good things

Things are pretty dire right now.  My unemployment has ended, and today I am placing my beloved bird Cricket in a new home.  If I let myself think about it all more than a couple seconds I melt into a puddle of fear and sadness.

So I need to focus on a good thing for at least a few moments.

I have a history of being a sad bastard on my birthday.  It's always been less about getting older  (though that is becoming more of a factor these days) and mTore about having way too many expectations and then being disappointed when no one lives up to them.  (The month is still young, however, and there is still time for me to catch up!)

There was, though, the year (2008?  I think it was?) my old book club and my friend D.P., in particular, had the sweetest and most thoughtful little surprise celebration for me at our monthly meeting.  I still have the origami cranes from that.  And the melted record album bowl.  And the cards.  Because it was one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.

Anyway.

Ivan called me from work on Thursday, breathless with excitement.  I was surprised, because usually when he calls from work he sounds much more tired.  He started telling me what all errands he'd run during a couple hours he had off earlier in the afternoon, and then he burst in with, "and I got you something!"

He told me all about how he had wanted to find me something so special, something that could possibly convey the depth of his love ("That's a lot of expectations for one present," I pointed out as he shushed my skepticism.)

"I went to Haight Street," he said, "because there are so many weird goddamn shops close together that I figured if I was going to find something for you it would be there."  I rolled my eyes.  "Did you know there's a store there for Edwardian fashion?  Like, nice stuff.  I bet they only get customers one time a year..."

"Halloween," I broke in, just as he said, "Burning man."

"Anyway," he continued, "I went from store to store.  I even went into the Edwardian place.  Who knows?  Maybe they have something for you in there.  But I couldn't find anything.  I could find anything just right.  That said what I wanted to say.  I gave up.  Honey, I had given up!  And then I saw it.  Out of the corner of my eye.  There it was!"

"What, in a window?" I asked.

He went on to tell me about how the store clerk had been so helpful to him as they examined his options.  My curiosity grew and grew.

"You're going to love it!" he promised.  "You're going to know instantly why I got it for you and you're going to understand what you mean to me."

This was dramatic language even for Ivan.  I could barely disguise my doubt and disbelief, though I was completely intrigued by whatever item he thought could accomplish all this.

He wasn't done.

"Also I'm going to prove you wrong over what you said at Christmas.  How you said I didn't get you at all.  I do get you!  I get you and I love you so much!  You mean so much to me.  Do you want it now?  Yes!  Let me give it to you now!  I don't think I can wait."

I was completely blown away by the level of enthusiasm he was showing for this (and it doesn't even involve Warhammer!) but I said, "Look.  You would not believe the history I have for negotiating my presents early.  But I want to wait for this one.  Things have been so hard for so long for us and my birthdays usually feel so crappy to me that it would be really nice to have something to look forward to on my birthday."

He was doubtful and pointed out that he had to work on my birthday and I would be home alone with the baby.  I knew that, though.  And I don't even need the present.  The thought and effort that he put into really touched me, and this birthday, in one of the last days that I will be able to stay home with my girl before something--one way or another--changes.  This is enough. 

Dear Frijole/Undertoad Crossover

Dear Frijole,

As I write this, you are 8 1/2 months old.  You've now been out of me longer than you were in me.

You have five teeth at various stages of coming in.  You love avocados, hummus, cheese, yogurt, and yams.  You love to dance, and you and your father are the only people in the entire world who like the sound of my singing.  "Yo Gabba Gabba" and "Dora the Explorer" get you excited, and you lick the TV screen to show your appreciation of the characters you like best.  When you take a bath in the evenings you love to play with your pink rubber duck.  Always as we are finishing your bath, we say goodbye to Duckie and he quacks and "kisses" you on the cheeks and nose and your smile gets so huge.  Sometimes you murmur "mama" in your sleep and it does something in my chest that I can't quite describe.

Some of my favorite moments of the day come when you wake up.  You sit up with blanket marks on your face and sleepily rub your eyes.  You'll play quietly with your animals for a few minutes:  touching them, patting them, biting them, burying your face in them.  When you notice me watching you, you break into a grin and eagerly stand up in your crib to reach for me.  I hug and nuzzle you and take in your baby smell.  I could pick you out of hundreds of babies just by smelling you.

You are--many times over--the most beautiful thing in my world.  I can barely believe that I am lucky enough to have such a beautiful, sweet, playful, inquisitive little girl to love.  The responsibility of guiding you into becoming a confident, courageous, compassionate young woman is a daunting one, but one that I take very seriously.  

I can't look at newborn pictures of you without weeping, because every day takes you further away from being my tiny baby.  It is bittersweet to be leaving your babyhood behind, but it is amazing to watch you learn and grow and change.  You are my greatest joy.

Love,

Mama

Fighting words

"The front door's open.  You don't have to make a scene."

Sergeant Pepper Taught the Band to Play

Twenty years ago today.  Can you believe it?  I don't feel old enough to have fallen in love for the first time twenty years ago today.

October 24, 1992.  It feels like the day life as I know it began.  Thank you for that.  They are happy memories for me.

A tube is a tube is a tube

A: Can you run out and get me a tube of Orajel? We're almost out and I'm starting to freak out.

I: (picks up a tube of Desitin diaper cream) Can't you just use this?

A: That's for her butt.

I: (Looks at tube again, shrugs) Okay.

By way of explanation

I:  What's wrong with that girl?  Is she right in the head?

A:  She's from Indiana.

I:  Ah, okay. That explains it.

Cut short

Ivan and Sophia drove to San Jose to spend two nights at his mother's house.  Sophie's "nana."  I stayed behind.  The prospect of a couple nights to myself to sleep and do nothing were nearly too much to contemplate, and I looked forward to it for days.

I cried when they left yesterday. As Ivan was loading the car I sat and talked to Sophie. As I told her how much mama would miss her, the images flashed through my mind. The wrecked cars, the flashing lights and sirens. The passersby who stare at the wreckage in the median as they pass, eager to get where they're going. The phone call that would take them both away from me.

But I gritted my teeth and persevered!  I had packed her bags.  I had packed her meals.  I knew she was in good hands.

And the first night was blissful.  After several hours in the company of a friend and a plethora of champagne. I drifted in and out of sleep at will for hours and hours.  I haven't gotten dressed.  Haven't cleaned or put anything away.  Hell, I'm drinking the rest of last night's champagne out of the bottle next to my cup of coffee.  

What?

Anyway, Sophia's father, whom I'm too peeved at to call by name this very second, called. "Do you miss me?" he asked. 

"I miss you both," I replied, because she is really the one I miss and I was trying to be diplomatic.

"Well, great! Because we are coming home tonight!" he exclaimed, waiting for my display of enthusiasm.

I felt tricked. My voice was flat. "You're what?"

"Tonight. We're coming back tonight. We should be there by 8:00."

"Don't come back tonight." My voice was quiet and near pleading.

"Well, now I'm DEFINITELY coming back tonight," he said grouchily.

Turns out that they are having a lovely visit and Sophia is being a model child, but she woke him up at 4:30 am. He changed and fed her, but then she WANTED TO PLAY. Why would a baby want to play at 4:30 in the morning? Ivan asked himself. And if I have to stay up with her, how am I going to get any sleep? His poor sleep deprived brain wondered. When she woke him up again at 7 am, he suddenly realized the answer. Take her home to her mother! Ivan can't possibly risk not getting 8 hours of sleep a second night in a row--and besides, that lazy bitch already had her night off!--so we drive back home to Concord so mama can take over and papa can go to bed.

Voila! Problem solved.

Room for me in your internal world

I found the poem we both forgot you wrote for me.

Sometimes I wish
I could sink deep down
into you
into your subconscious
and touch those parts of you
that bring tears to your eyes
and flight to your heart

I never feel as close to you
as when you are scared

"Planet Earth is blue, and there's nothing I can do."

I see the things he posts and he is still the same. Still exactly the same. And it makes me  miss him. I read his rants and random declarations and imagine how I would respond. I generally imagine his retort and find myself laughing. Even though nothing actually happened.

I miss the long nights we sat and talked and drank for hours. And sometimes we just drank. He knew when to hug me, when to change the music, and when to make a giant farting sound with his mouth.

I am missing my friend terribly.

Ah, Scott. Fuck.

How I long to fall just a little bit,
to dance out of the lines and stray from the light,
But I fear that to fall in love with you
is to fall from a great and gruesome height

- Dar Williams

On grammar

I feel I am reasonably competent when it comes to using correct grammar and punctuation, but I am definitely conscious that there are rules I don't know. Chances are I learned them at some point and just forgot.  Two examples came up just last night and it  occurred to me:  I lost the ability to absorb any new grammar rules in the 10th grade. I remember the day it happened, too. I was sitting behind Patrick Abernethy in Mrs. Tomes' first period English class. We were in the middle of diagramming sentences and suddenly I couldn't remember what the fuck a past participle was. And I knew I would never know again.

(I do recall that one is not supposed to end a sentence with a preposition or begin a sentence with "and" but those are often inconvenient for me.)

The end of an era

On this, my final morning living in San Francisco, I sat outside in the cool air and watched the fog.  I wish I could hear the foghorns from here.

For poorer

On the positive side, she thought, you really get to know someone when you have spent some time broke with them.  When there's no money for restaurants and bars and trips you have to be more resourceful about having fun.  Small things--like soy sauce to go on top of the plain white rice--seem like luxuries.  You get good at amusing each other for free.  She had known those things already, but she'd learned something new with this period of poverty.  She had learned what it was like to have someone steal food for her.  The profound gratitude and loyalty she felt when he returned with something to eat and physically put it into her hands when she was hungry and humble and vulnerable...well, that was new to her.  A lot of people didn't understand a lot of things about their relationship, to be sure, and this was one more that not many would comprehend.  But to her loving someone meant nourishing them with food, and when he opened his bag and pulled out what he managed to find, she wasn't sure if she had ever been loved more.

Be careful what you wish for.

On Monday, Ivan and I were having a bad day.  We've faced some pretty serious financial setbacks lately, and the stress of them added to having a new baby is really...hard.

I have been considering whether I should leave San Francisco and return to the east coast.  The toughest thing about it is that Sophia and I would be returning alone.  Ivan would not be joining us.  But other than him, there really is very little left for me here.  Most of my friends are gone.  I have been feeling terribly alone and lonely and isolated for quite some time.  And the cost of living that I managed to keep up with before is killing me.

When I look at how my life has changed in the last 3 1/2 years for the worse, it all leads back to Sept. 18, 2008 for me.  I still can't believe how one man could take so much from me in one night:  my power, my self-confidence and self-worth.  I just can't find them again.  And finding them again while struggling for basic survival at the moment is proving nearly impossible.

I read a Postsecret postcard awhile back that made me weep in sharp recognition:

Anyway, back to the bad day on Monday.  I was anxious and distraught and afraid.  I sat outside on the front steps while Ivan was inside with his sister and Sophia napped in the bedroom.  I closed my eyes and wished for something to happen to provide me with clarity.  I was trying to figure out how I could leave the person I love--and my baby's father--in order to try to make a new life somewhere else.  And to make it even worse, I would not be leaving from a place of strength.  I would be leaving because I am fucking broken.

In my irrationality, I imagined that a natural disaster like an earthquake would absolutely fucking shake things up--help me put them in perspective.  Despite feeling a little superstitious, I wished for it to happen.  I closed my eyes and wished it intensely.  I felt desperate for anything that might help me make this gut-wrenching decision.

Ten minutes later I was inside changing the baby and arguing with Ivan again when the oven caught on fire in the kitchen.  Ivan and Natasha tried to put it out, but it only got worse.  I heard Natasha say from the kitchen, "Get out.  Get out now!" and I grabbed my baby and we were the first ones out the door.  The smoke filled up the house so fast that we couldn't even get a baby blanket.  Natasha was on the phone with 911 while smoke billowed out of our windows.  Approaching sirens screamed while I curled myself around Sophia to keep her warm and covered her ears from the noise.

I felt guilty for the wish I'd made.

I sat on a nearby stoop while a crowd of neighbors and other passersby gathered and stared.  Three fire trucks blocked the intersection and the firemen rushed in.  I felt miserable and afraid as I held onto Sophia and crooned softly to her.  In my mind I was asking myself:  "Is this it? Is it time to go?"  I saw Ivan looking at me and knew that he knew what I was thinking.

We are now safe and back in our house.  There was minimal damage, but the damage we did have has only added to our financial burden.  I'm not sure that the fire provided the clarity I wished for, but it did sink me a little further.

I feel weak.  And terrified.  And terribly alone.  Where is the girl who arrived here in 2005 with such courage and hope and a 'fuck-it-I'll-make-it-work-somehow' attitude?  I need her now.

The nature of the universe

Me:  I have a question for you.

Ivan (with his back to me at the computer):  Okay.

Me:  It's just something I was thinking about last night and it occurred to me that I didn't know how you would answer the question.

Ivan:  Okay.

Me:  And all you need to give is a yes/no answer.  I'm not trying to force you into a conversation about this.  I just want to know fundamentally what you believe.

Ivan:  Okay...

Me:  Do you believe in predestination?

Ivan (turns around):  What the fuck...?

Me:  You know, fate.  That we're all traveling down the road we were meant to travel.  Everything's laid out for us.  Can you boil down 'yes' or 'no' whether you believe in that or not?

(What followed was his half hour long thoughtful, off-the-cuff articulation of his views on predestination, the existence of God, and the nature of the universe while I listened.)

Me:  (pauses)  You know, I forgot that about you.

Ivan:  (raises his eyebrows inquisitively)

Me:  I forgot how you can TALK like that.  You explain yourself so well and you're so thoughtful.  I fell in love with you while you were doing that.  I forget that you can do it because we get bogged down in these mundane conversations about going to work and the baby and what's going on today.  I just forgot how much I love to listen to you.

Ivan:  (ducks his head shyly and laughs)

May the 4th be with you/go fuck itself

Today everything feels like a bit too much.

I started off surprisingly chipper given my three hours of sleep, but I have been sinking into exhaustion since then.  I just can't seem to get caught up.  Everything is piling up around me and everyone else needs attention and I am so sleepy that I just want to  curl into a ball with my baby and sleep for 500 years.

Flushed

My name is Sophia and I hog the bed.