Pillow

January 20, 2025

Greetings from where I lay me down,

I had a friend when I was growing up who once said something about having “...pillars on the bed…” which I thought was pretty impressive.  I pictured this giant platform framed in marble columns, maybe with palm fronds over the top, busts of Roman emperors nearby.

When I visited his house, the reality was somewhat more humble. He was in, in fact, referring to the pillows on his bed.  This taught me a little about regional dialects and that I needed to ask better questions.  Later when other friends told me about ‘pellows’, I corrected them, which is how I became an introvert.

Pillows, no matter how you mispronounce them, are a critical part of civilization.  Early Mesopotamians, who were famous for being prompt, invented the first pillow to keep insects from crawling into the sleeper’s nose.  I never would have thought of that reason, and now I can’t stop thinking about it.

Humans sleep better when they have a pillow, which typically means they wake up refreshed and therefore can contribute more readily to the fabric of society.  (If you are having trouble sleeping, read that last sentence before bed.) So, pillows have become the pillars of human advancement, therefore redeeming my childhood friend from Kentucky. 

As everyone knows, a phrase I like to say to avoid arguments, pillows are where dreams come from. Pillows are where the Tooth Fairy does the exchange for dental orphans, leaving behind tokens of appreciation. Pillows are the thing of childhood forts, of non-violent fights, of loose feathers and soft landings. Without pillows there would be no pillow cases, and then how would we go trick or treating?

One definition of luxury is having more pillows on the bed than the number of people who sleep there.  Here I am not including ‘throw’ pillows, although there is no better indicator of an opulent society than the time spent removing and reinstating throw pillows each day.  Estimates suggest that the world’s GDP would double tomorrow if we just skipped that exercise.

I sleep with two pillows, half of which I never use. (Coincidentally the same percentage assigned to my brain cells).  This other pillow, which is how I think of it, is not comfortable, which makes me wonder how it even qualifies for the position. The truth is I am afraid to ask about it for fear of revealing my ignorance of some custom, or the memory of a relative who bequeathed the extra pillow.  Each time I make the bed, which I do regularly, (technically ‘annually’ is regularly) I put the pillow in its place, thinking that one day I will discover what it’s for, perhaps in casual conversation with someone from Kentucky.

While I am thinking about making the bed, allow me to apologize to anyone I included in a conversation about a duvet.  It turns out I have been confusing duvet with another French term, bidet.  I know it initiated a lot of confusing conversations and concerned expressions.  To all of you with whom I misplaced either word, in either context, I am sorry.

Some people become attached to their pillows to the point that they carry them when they leave home, which I’m not judging, but in spite of what I said earlier about the importance of pillows, they are not meant to be brought to movie theaters or public transportation. Still not judging, but this is the equivalent of wearing your pajamas to Kroger.  Does it help to say I’m not judging?

And that leads to travel.  If you have gone anywhere on trains, buses or planes you have witnessed the prevalence of travel pillows.  Some are inflatable, others made of NASA inspired foam, shaped like donuts or wedges or elaborate torture scarves.  Travelers, often desperate to recreate their horizontal rest, bounce along against each other while clutching their version of another disappointing invention. 

The pillow is an intimate thing.  We spend as much time on our pillow as with almost any person in our life.  It is the last comfort of a challenging day, the first thing we feel when we wake.  It is the place of dreams, of warmth, a fragment of what we think of as home.

Some mornings, the pillow is our last refuge, when we are not quite ready to face whatever the day holds, we can bury our head beneath it.  Maybe that’s what that pillow I don’t use is for; hiding from really bad days.

There may be no better creation in human experience than the Other Side of the pillow.  That middle of the night discovery when you wake up not sure what to do with this dark world, and flip your pillow and rest your head on the cooler cotton, and fall into new sleep.

In my days on the road, I didn’t have a pillow, so I would pack my dirty clothes (which was all of them) into the stuff sack of my sleeping bag (also dirty) and rest my head on that, sleeping on the hard ground, or on picnic tables. Wherever I slept, my head was on a lumpy, dirty nylon bag filled with smelly clothes.  I never slept better.

This morning when I woke up, before I felt the press of what waits, I first felt the place that cradled my head, this almost-just-right nest that I trust to keep me while I dream of what might be possible.  If I could hope for one thing for all of us it’s that we wake feeling as grateful as I felt when I opened my eyes. 

Also, no insects in your nose.

Hope this finds you with a messopotamians,

David

Copyright © 2025 David Smith