MOLI VIEW™

In the deep woods searching for a lost little boy a month ago, he subject of beds came up. We were trudging through the rocky terrain in the pitch dark (except for flashlights and headlamps, feeble in that kind of primordial, moonless night). "I can't wait to get back to my bed," said the woman to my left. We'd been deployed late to do the night shift and had eight hours to clear an area the size of Liechtenstein, if Liechtenstein was a mess of boulders and ravines with more coyotes you'd care to know about. Our quadriceps were screaming.

So when she said "bed," I suddenly got dead tired. But one of the rules of search and rescue is that you never complain. It's like a fireman saying, "God it's so hot," in the middle of a five-alarmer. Another rule: assume your subject is alive and that you will find him. Do not entertain thoughts that what you are doing is futile. So as we clambered down to the edge of the black lake we did not want to think the toddler was in, we naturally started talking about beds.

"And what kind of bed do you have?" I asked, to make the segue.

"A Malm," she said. "A king-sized birch-veneer platform bed with shelves that slide in and out of the headboard."

At three in the morning I couldn't quite grasp the concept of sliding shelves (a new feature), but I know the Malm. It's from IKEA and popular among those of us who love design but have bigger visions than budgets.

"Oh," I said, as we heard wild howling in the distance. "I'm considering buying that bed myself."

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