Making my bed in the morning involves a few quick and simple steps. First I straighten the sheet and the pillow on top of my thin and narrow futon. Then I fold the duvet lengthwise and place it on top of the sheet and pillow. Folded, the duvet is about as wide as the futon. Next I roll up the futon and everything on top of it, going from the bottom upward, and I press the thick roll down with both hands, so that it cannot unroll on its own. And then I cover it with a small kilim, whose ends fall some distance from the roll on all sides. Coming from Konya in Turkey, the kilim looks wonderful on the large rug from Kazakhstan on top of which lies the futon. Surrounded by all the other kilims and rugs that adorn my bedroom, the two are a joy to behold. Making my bed takes no more than half a minute. Each morning, two thoughts flash through my mind in quick succession: the first, which is quite languid, “who knows, someone may come to visit,” is immediately followed by the second, which is rather hurried and furious, “no, no, I am doing this for my own self!” Each morning, the same two thoughts. Each morning, the same two emotions. And without fail.