During our peregrinations through California, we have spent 10 nights in the homes of relatives or friends. For which we are quite grateful. That’s a huge savings to the tourist.

Our sleeping quarters have ranged from plush “nearly always unused guest bedroom” to an old-fashioned case of “one of the kid’s rooms while the little ones double up.”

The latter type yielded easily the most … uh, scenic? memorable? … bedroom of our visit.

Our 11-year-old niece sleeps in what can only be described as a “themed” bedroom, and her preference turns out to have been … butterflies.

Purple butterflies with two-foot wingspans. Green butterflies only a few inches across. Pink butterflies. Blue butterflies. Paper and fishnet butterflies.

Butterflies are hanging from lines, perched on a gossamer sash hugging the window, taped to the walls, perched on a framed photo … butterflies everywhere!

It is unusual, certainly. Madonna Inn-like.

For an 11-year-old, it must be quite fun. For people considerably older, including this one, it’s vaguely nightmarish.

The last thing you see at night is encircling butterflies — and the first thing you see when you wake is … encircling butterflies.

But some of those could be moths, right? And they’re nasty. And even if butterflies are symbols of grace and beauty, I still don’t want them landing on me as I sleep.

In a twist, the room was my room when I was a teen, decades ago. But my map of Middle Earth seems to have disappeared. Eaten by butterflies, perhaps.

Anyway, it’s intense. And very unusual. And I’m sure my niece loves it.

I’m thankful to have a room. But I won’t miss the decor.