pillow talk

topic number four: protocol for pillow prosperity

Pillows--specifically for one's bed--are relatively easy to understand when it comes to form and function. So one may argue that my "preferences" are only to help pillows so that they may fulfill their purpose. This is to provide a place to rest one's head. And in case you haven't already surmised, resting my particular head can be a bit challenging at times.

To start, a hypoallergenic zippered sleeve to seal the pillow is required. This is a must not just for the pillow with head privileges, but for all the pillows sharing nearby space, shams or no shams. I have never understood why anyone would encase their mattress and box spring, but leave their pillow or pillows vulnerable. Think about it...a real head scratcher!

Soft or hard, pillow preference is personal. For those of us who appreciate options, why not have both? I keep a set of each on my own bed as well as on the guest bed for visitors. I do not believe I have ever encountered a bed with too many pillows, but unfortunately on occasion, found too few.

When placing the ironed case (or two) over the sealed pillow, do so with the case opening resting on the same side as seal zipper. This leaves the other side of the pillow completely smooth; an important element of a good night's sleep. Better yet, not waking up in the morning with wrinkles and zipper imprints across your forehead is most helpful to one's well being. Just a suggestion.

Ever important is scent. Although all are white, I NEVER wash my pillow cases with my husband's t-shirts or our kitchen sponges. It matters not whether the washing machine water is hot or cold, the detergent is hypoallergenic, unscented or mountain fresh. No excuses.

Regarding scent, years ago my friend Jen introduced me to Bath Junkie's custom scented "domain spray". I use it religiously on all my linens and is by far the best I have found. Find yourself counting stinking sheep? Try a hint of lavender on your pillow instead.

invasion of the throw pillows

After their first month of college, students look forward to "little touches of home" arriving with mom or dad on Parents' Weekend. For some, it's delicious homemade baked goods, like the ones my roommate received. For others, it's more clothes, like those my friend acquired after underestimating the weather. For me, it was throw pillows. 

That's right. Throw pillows.

My mother fluffed up the four large, white pillows, arranged them, and then looked at my bed with discontent. Something was missing. Later, more beddings had materialized including a white fleece, a blue afghan, and a furry white throw to match the pillows. God only knows where my mother found these additional items; my college town is only three blocks long. But in true Perri-form, my mother convened with the spirits and found appropriate bedding.

I wasn't ungrateful, but I didn't really get it at first. Throw pillows? At school, I barely had enough energy to pull back the sheets when I got in at night. With additional hazards like books, coats, and the occasional person ("oops! wrong bunk. No, wait, wrong ROOM! Sorry, dude") it was a miracle I slept at all. 

But I'm starting to understand slowly, especially after the latest in the throw pillow saga. On another bedding outing at IKEA this summer, my mother was pressuring me to buy more pillows. I may or may not have given her sass about it as we were on a specific quest for a comforter (my old one was too . . . blue). Then she showed me a picture of a pillow adorned with a ladybug, which was my childhood nickname. And then I got it. A little touch of my mother, and a little touch of home.