Bird brains

Whenever I travel -- as in, anytime I know I will be spending the night somewhere that does not feature my own bed -- my pillow goes with me.

Always.

I cannot sleep on any pillow but my own.

As alluring and comfy and soft and downy and plump and potentially pillowy as any other pillow may appear, the moment I lie down on it I hate it. 

I love my pillow. I need my pillow.

It is a king-sized goosedown pillow that was given to me by my mother-in-law over fifteen years ago.

And may I state unequivocally: until you have slept on a king-sized goosedown pillow, you have not been comfortable. Don't come on here and tell me about your awesome pillow! I don't want to hear it!

See, you can mold this pillow to your neck and shoulders fortune-cookie fashion and then punch it until it's just right for your face and your particular way of sleeping, and it stays where you put it but in the most mollycoddling way you could ever wish for. That pillow is mold-able and efficient and compliant and angel-soft and simply dreamy.

So imagine if you will the height and depth and width of my chagrin when, a few weeks ago when TG and I were en route to North Carolina on the first leg of our long journey north for Grandpa's funeral, I realized the awfullest thing imaginable:

I had forgotten my pillow at home.

Also my phone charger.

Now, the pillow, I have no idea how it got left behind, except, I remember placing it at the end of my bed so it wouldn't be forgotten, and then I know TG put my dress bag on top of it and we were both working to get my clothes organized, and next thing you knew he had taken the dress bag out to the car and I must've gotten distracted because clearly, I left home and my pillow didn't.

Disaster.

Forgetting your pillow is the bedtime equivalent of locking your keys in your car: once you do it, you know it will be a LONG time before you'll be making that mistake again.

As to the phone charger, it never even got unplugged from the wall. It was not remotely thought of, much less remembered.

I've no idea why, as we drove along, approaching Charlotte as I recall, the twin horrific truth(s) rather suddenly washed over my brain:

I FORGOT TO BRING MY PILLOW. AND MY PHONE CHARGER.

I nearly cried, right there on I-77.

You see, the prospect of spending at least eight nights in beds not my own was bad enough. But without MY pillow?

Unthinkable.

Disremembering the phone charger was little more than an annoyance in the grand scheme of things, but consider: once your phone goes dead, what then? 

Once your phone is dead, you can't call anyone. And they can't call you. That's what.

And that's not good, because I am dependent on my cell phone to the same degree I despise it.

And that's a lot.

It's become too easy to stay connected to TG and the kids with that phone. We all call one another whenever we feel like it. In normal circumstances that might be anywhere from once or twice or even three times a day, to once or twice or even three times a week. It just depends.

The point is, when you want to communicate with someone, it's as simple as palming your cellie and punching a few buttons. 

Now, granted, we were all going to be together on this trip north. But hey! We took three cars, y'all. Three cars on the last -- and longest -- part of the trip, those 444 miles of I-75 that extend like a dirty gray ribbon between Powell, Tennessee, and Rossford, Ohio.

And you've got to stay in touch so as to know where to stop for hamburgers and donuts and coffee and sody-pop, and use the facilities, and fuel the autos, and give Javier a potty break. And you must be able to call and tell one another where Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity can be found on the radio in that part of the world.

You know! Important stuff!

Well, of course, you know what happened: that first Sunday night at my daughter's house, I slept about two hours.

The next day, TG went to TJ Maxx and bought me the plumpest king-sized pillow he could find. And pillowcases to go on it. Also he bought a car charger for my phone.

Good man. But wait! Not so fast.

The pillow LOOKED comfortable but it was a mere illusion. The moment I lay down on it, my head went straight to the mattress and the fluffy pillow ends came up around my face and practically smothered me.

No matter how much I pushed and shifted and cajoled and pled with that pillow, whatever was stuffing its insides was so stubborn and so determined to do what IT wanted to do instead of what I wanted it to do, it was hopeless.

(I've since found out, after getting that pillow home, it's wonderful for propping behind my perfectly excellent goosedown pillow while sitting up in bed for reading or working a crossword, or eating ice cream while watching midnight reruns of The Nanny. So all is not lost. Also, I love having a car charger for my phone and wonder now what I ever did without it.)

By the time we showed up at the funeral home the following Thursday afternoon, I'd slept so little and so ill for four nights running, I avoided the undertakers.

I was afraid they'd throw me in the first available coffin and bank me with carnations and fire up those pink spotlights.

And as tired and unwell as I felt, I wasn't ready for that appalling scene.

One wouldn't want to steal another corpse's thunder, after all. Everybody gets their turn to be star of the show and let's be civil about it.

Fast forward four more nights and I'm back in Knoxville, spending the final night without my pillow at the lovely home of daughter Audrey. 

The next day Audrey was still on bereavement leave from work and so we had the luxury of lingering over a scrumptious breakfast of homemade french toast (with hot cherries and syrup and confectioner's sugar) and bacon and copious amounts of hot, strong, fresh coffee (with real half and half).

In mid-afternoon I left for Columbia, anticipating a joyous reunion with my beloved pillow and bed.

It was a four-hour trip and I was down to the last fifty miles when it happened. I was trucking eastbound on I-26 and it was beginning to spit rain. Also it would soon be dark. I wasn't exactly speeding but I wasn't strictly observing the speed limit either. Know what I mean?

I think you do.

I was alone because TG was working in North Carolina, and we were actually talking on my car-charger-enthused cell phone when it happened.

From my left-hand field of vision something large -- very large -- and dark -- very dark -- featuring huge -- very huge -- wings hurtled out of the heavens on a collision course with my chariot.

It was over in a nano-second: an oversized bird hit my car and bounced off. For the slightest instant I'd seen a spread of massive brown-and-white tailfeathers as the bird made contact with the outside of my driver's side exterior mirror.

I glanced into the rearview in time to see his carcass caroming around the interstate like an errant bowling ball, feathers flying everywhere.

I sort of started yelling to TG on the phone, telling him what had happened. He said he thought he'd heard the pronounced thrump as the bird hit my car!

It was that loud.

And then I saw it: the bird had struck my mirror housing so squarely and so hard, he'd pushed it in on its hinge until it was all the way flush with my car ... and there was no longer a mirror. Just innards and flapping wires.

So! A confirmed birdbrain who leaves her feather-filled pillow behind when she goes on a trip, will not return from said trip without inadvertently braining a bird who, thanks to her, no longer needs his feathers.

What are the chances?

I don't really want to know.

And what are the charges? Uh, well, can you say deductible? To the tune of $250? Add another $200 on top of that, all to replace an eight-inch by six-inch mirror.

My guess is, as long as I can put shoe leather to accelerator and terrify birds along the interstates, I'll be bailing out General Motors.

C'est la vie, mon ami! C'est la vie.

Comments

[Debbie]

Oh my goodness. What a story.

I'm the same way about my pillow, take it with me every time we go somewhere overnight. When we were driving across Canada a few years ago I had forgotten my pillow. A long story there, but we were at one hotel and the pillow was just perfect so when we checked out hubby bought the pillow for the rest of our trip.

[irene]

I agree about the pillow, it's awful sleeping on a hotel pillow, even if they look comfortable. You do get into some unusual adventures though. Sorry it cost so much. Thanks for stopping by.

[Donna (Texas)]

I will Not talk about My wonderful pillow...won't...BUT...it Also goes where I go...and it's a down pillow so I can appreciate your faithfulness towards it.
SO GLAD You're alright!!!!!
((((HUG))))

[Tony Funderburk]

Well, the bird now leads an unfettered existence in that great superhighway of the netherworld. His goose is cooked.

Glad you made it home safely where you can get down and comfy at night again.

(stretched out puns intended)

;-)

[Sue the hobbit]

My pillow has now been to Haiti and The DR. Just sayin'! But I forgot my camera charging cord. Much worse than a phone cord, don't you think? And, I once wiped out the side mirror on our conversion van on a marker post on the way to the beach. Side mirrors are very expensive to replace. Plus, we got the non-automated one because it was cheaper. Not handy at all.
Does that one-up your story?
And have you been getting spammed lately or something?