My Bedside Table - My Space

A mock Tiffany lamp with a dimmer feature sits on top of my bedside table, which is a fitted unit matching the headboard. A Mr and Mrs pair of teddy bears from the Outer Hebrides and dressed in authentic Harris tweed occupy the remaining space.

Below this, my bedside table is a work of art in the style of Tracey Emin’s unmade bed. The clutter is contained within the small area, and I know where everything is. It’s functional and how I like it. A biography of Agatha Christie, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Bronte, a couple of poetry collections and a fantasy/horror novel make a tower of books topped with a notebook, a journal and a box of tissues. It never looks balanced or neat. Hand cream, an assortment of pens, a bookmark made by a child and another with ‘Desiderata’ on it, a straw coaster, plastic water bottle and just enough room for my phone which I rely on for an alarm. Don’t mention the dust.

Half a dozen perfumes, mainly Christian Dior are grouped together on an internal shelf. I have no sense of smell anymore, but I remember my favourites and still use them. Also on the shelf is a small torch, just in case. A jewellery box which belonged to my late mother and contains some of her things, special to me, takes up the rest of the shelf.

I keep my glasses in the drawer, with several spare pairs, a few charging cables for various devices and an iPod Shuffle music thingy full of Moody Blues albums which I take on holidays.

Beneath the drawer is an open space where keepsakes and bits and pieces are safe in a perfectly fitting box.

I would love a tidy, minimalistic bedside table. It will never be, not in my busy house.

My Haiku,

I do not lose things
They’re on my bedside table
With everything else.

It’s only some keys,
They will be under something
Not exactly lost.

A crumpled tissue,
Used for cleaning my glasses
Had covered them up.

PMW 2025

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Amber

Here it goes! I don’t know if it is a blog or a poem or a love child of both...

Amber comes from the Baltic coast. So do I.

The ancient legend tells:
The pine trees were crying.
Pine resin? Or tears…

And the cold salty water turned the tears into the amber.
I don’t know how long it took. Must be a very long time.
I was not there for so long. So, I don’t know.

In the summer the Baltic Sea is calm and lovely. Not being mad and spitting out the amber. 

We went to visit her just for paddles, swim and meditation.

That was in the childhood. 

We didn’t know it as meditation, we just looked in her colours and calmness and sometimes talked to Mama Sea. Particularly when heart was full of something heavy.

Maybe the amber was something precious but really heavy when accumulated in Mama Sea’s heart.

Maybe she really has a heart, which holds pine trees’ tears in it, till it becomes too much of them, too heavy? Then she releases them, the amber.

In the autumn, after the heavy storms we come back to the sea shore, walking slowly, looking for the uneven, rough skin stones, the amber. Picking them up, holding in hands, putting in pockets if too many of them.

And the taking them to school. Not to show to others! It’s not a secret, but we just take them there to make something.

We are so lucky to have a crafts teacher who knew what to do with the amber and all the tools, needed to turn it into jewellery. The necklace for mum, a brooch for grandma and more.

And I made them and more.

I sill remember how to do it.

Might do someday.

I am just asking to myself…..

Where is the amber?

In my hand, in my pocket?

In the Sea, in my heart, in the making?

I don’t know, I just hold it tight,

If I have some…

And feel all the sunshine, all the tears, all the strength

Of trees and sea and maybe me….

I am just wondering does our Baltic Sea still have those precious gifts?

Maija Ozolina

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