The Other Side of the Pillow

When I want to sleep just a bit more, when I want to go back to a dream and try to understand it, when I want to put off what the day holds for a few more minutes, I flip over my pillow and bury my face in the cool side. I love the way the material feels cool where it's been away from your body. Higher thread count the better. No flannel for this kid. Linens need a cool, contrasty place you can seek out. Oddly, the contrast is not like a slap-in-the-face-wake-you-up in this case. No, it takes me to another level of sleeping and, possibly as I said, not just back to dreaming but to the very dream I was just having.

This morning I sought the other side of the pillow. My dreams had already fluttered away. There were no threads left to weave back those pictures. (These days I rarely dream the intense lost your clothes-luggage-money-friends dreams anyway. I rarely teeter on a high wall I've somehow climbed or glide brake-less in a car. Now I seem to have boring bureaucratic dreams, dreams you just have to get through like a day at work or a boring board meeting.)

It was not to be, however. The dog, having been fed by FFP (as is usual since he gets up earlier almost every day) wanted to be taken to the back yard for her duties by me. While he exhorted her to go outside she stood by the bed, near me, expectantly. Nevermind that I frequently just leave her out there and go back a few minutes later to find her peering into the glass door desperately and her human father usually waits for her to finish. Nothing would do but that I would take her out. I threw on a robe and took her.

It just didn't seem right to go back to bed, to search around for the coolest other side on one of the pillows and visit my dreams again. I dressed and made the bed and got coffee. I put away some of the dishes from last night's Christmas Eve dinner and washed the wine glasses. Our little celebration didn't make much of a mess. There were just the four of us, FFP and his parents and me. Dad didn't feel like getting out. I didn't really cook much of anything. A spinach casserole. Otherwise I heated up a fully-cooked turkey breast, store-made dressing and gravy, brown and serve rolls. My mother-in-law made her ambrosia, Waldorf and potato salads. She has so much trouble seeing, but still makes several meals a day. She removed her water glass from her place setting. "I don't know if Forrest told you, but I spilled my water at Thanksgiving, " she said. He fed them by himself at Thanksgiving while I took my dad on a trip.

Naturally he hadn't told me she spilled her water. I repeated her statement this morning. "She didn't just spill it. She broke the glass. She couldn't see it sitting there."

So this morning I've washed up the china I used. The tablecloth and napkins are in the hamper. It is only eight o'clock on Christmas. There are no Santa Claus surprises for children in this house, just the worry about all the parents. I have spoken to my dad. He doesn't sound like he feels too good although he got his bath and breakfast.

"I want you to clean up my kitchen when you get over here. I cooked my dinner, but it was too much. Well, I got it done. And I cooked my breakfast. I guess I should have waited for the pain pill to kick in."

So, it's Christmas. I'm going to get a 'heat and eat' plate of turkey and trimmings together for his lunch. And take him his presents. And get his paper in and clean up his kitchen.

The other side of the pillow will have to wait until another day. As will putting away the oddments of Christmas cheer mixed in with our normal decor.