a sleepover

As a kid, I loved sleepovers.

Having a friend spend the night felt like a real adventure.  But even better, was sleeping at a friend's house.

I remember being invited to Arlene Franklin's ultra-modern, exquisite home.  She had a real blender where we could create restaurant-worthy chocolate milk shakes. And, even more impressive, Arlene's family owned a color TV.

I can still vaguely recall my first time seeing the NBC Peacock spread its wings, with a voiceover announcing, "The following program is brought to you in living color." It was a beautiful sight, though I still have no idea what "living color" means.  

Last night, after dinner, I come home to three missed calls from M. She is renting a house for two weeks near my mother's, but we didn't get together when I arrived yesterday as she had family visiting. Then I see her text. "Want to sleep over?" 

M's guests have left, her husband can't make it down, her boys are not free, and she is left alone in this big, gorgeous house at the end of a long, dark private road. I wouldn't want to sleep alone there either. I'm too used to living in a doorman building.

So M picks me up; my mom's house is only a couple of miles away. The house she is renting is spectacular. Big. New. Soft, peaceful colors.Tons of windows in every room, all overlooking the ocean.

M and I open a bottle of sparkling wine. Get slightly drunk. Talk and talk. Go to bed late. 

I awake at seven, with sun in my eyes, and this peaceful view.

Much better than a color TV.