Blondie in the Log Beds
Blondie hefted the cleaning cart into the first chalet at the Mountain Meadow Lodge. "If it
weren't for the pay...." she muttered.
After cleaning the entry room she headed for the bedroom and stopped in her tracts. There stood a
monstrous bed made of-- trees!
She whistled to herself. The owner/manager of the Lodge and it's four chalets had talked of
replacing all the beds and drapes before the tourist season started.
Blondie sat down on the mattress with a thump that made her long blonde hair creep out from under
her kerchief. "Mattress is firm." She reached out to wrap both arms around the fat bedpost. It was
like hugging her ten year old son.
A knobby curved arch of a log was across the end and a larger one at the head of the bed. The wood
felt smooth and strong. "Hmmm. I like it."
Pulling her feet up she spun herself in a circle, pivoting on her bum, carefully lifting her feet
over the pile of sheets and spread she was suppose to use to make it up.
Blondie dropped on her back, and away she was on a fantasy. It just wrote itself! A honeymoon
couple came to hide in this lovely Canadian mountain wilderness from-- Make that the Pavarotti of
Paris. Same ones that chased Princess Di.
Three quarters of an hour passed. Blondie heard the owner's wife, Shirley, go by and call out,
"Blondie! It's 11. You should be in the third chalet by now."
She scrambled up and made the bed. She cleaned the little bathroom sink and tub like a whirling
white tornado. Then she got at the floor, tidying as she went.
But in the next chalet, fifteen minutes later, there stood another log bed. Different colour of
logs, and a different unique shape to them. "More rugged," she told herself, trying not to give in
to her imagination which wanted to plot and write another story around it.
She slowed down as she tried to think of a suitable name for the giant of a lumberjack who would
stay in this bed, and the mysterious history he would have. But then she heard Ron, the owner ride
by on his mower, and sped up her cleaning work again.
Going so fast to make up for lost time was wearing her down, and Blondie began to scold herself. "I
meant to only work on the third verse of that poem I started at home this morning. Here I've written
two other stories in my head, and am heading into trouble!
Oh Lord, I wish I had time to write! My life is so-o-very busy. There isn't any space in my life.
How can I squeeze in writing?"
She was nearly done, and polishing mirrors vigorously when Shirley came into the third chalet. She
seemed surprised. "Whoa, who are you angry at?"
"Angry?"
"You're rubbing there with a vengeance."
"Oh. Maybe myself..."
"What do you think of the new beds? I was sure you'd come out to say something."
Quickly Blondie regained her manners, and praised them, and asked where they had got them.
They lunched together in the lodge's dining room, while Shirley raved about Mountain Man Log
Creations and what wonderful designs that man had made. She and Ron were sure this was going to make
their Lodge a name in the tourist industry.
Blondie agreed.
She was to clean all the eleven rooms in the Lodge, Shirley insisting on doing the public, or front
areas, as she called them, herself.
However, when Shirley showed off the intriguing group of smaller log cutoffs made into candle
holders on the foyer end tables, Blondie found her mind darting off again. Now on a fresh
installment of her first fantasy. Same characters, just a different scene.
"Maybe if I finished before quitting time..." Blondie was gazing out of a second floor window, "I
could go sit under that tree and make notes on the stories I've dreamed up today before hubby comes
to get me."
She glanced at her watch. It might be possible. Maybe. With new energy she tackled the cleaning,
trying to be more systematic and thorough, but not loitering in any more rooms.
By the second last room, Blondie's curls wouldn't stay put. Even when she used her white dots on
blue bandana to tie her hair up in a tail, it didn't want to hold. Her goal kept her working hard
though. What she'd thought was going to be a 30 or 40 minute block of writing time was fast
shrinking to only 20 minutes. She had to attain that goal. At least 20!
Finally, she threw down her carry all under the tree and looked at her watch. "I made 15!" Only now
she had to huff and puff for five to be able to think.
Pen and pad pulled out, Blondie was about to write-- when Ron walked up and wanted to know what was
wrong. Too tired to keep a secret, she blurted out, "I have promised myself all afternoon, if I
finished 20 minutes early I'd give myself time to write. I want to write down a story idea even
though I don't know when I'll ever get to write it proper."
She felt embarrassed. Why was she choking up?
Ron looked amused. Then he said gently, "Why didn't you say? Come next weekend to house-sit while
we go off to Vancouver for a wedding. Then you'll have time to write."
Blondie's chin fell away in a gasp. "Really?"
Out of the corner of her eye she saw her husband drive up. "Self-discipline, and writing time for
rewards - that's my new plan!"
(c)2004 Ruth Marlene Friesen
Your Heirloom Beds made of Mountain Logs
To see more photos of our log bed and other log creations, go to;
rustic log beds
computer desks
rails for decks
pool cue racks
Rustic log art frames
candle accessories
To meet the Mountain Man and discuss your designs with him
