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Granny Pillow
Feb. 24th, 2010 09:19 amI don't remember how old I was when my paternal grandmother gave me the dog-shaped pillow, but I was old enough that I felt embarrassed by it. It was an abstract dog shape, a flat design, with a square body and a little square for a head, with plastic eyes on both sides, and a littler square for the ears and two squares representing the front and back legs. It was covered with checkerboard squares of plush orange and plush leopard print in some kind of artificial fabric and filled with what feels like bits of styrofoam. It seemed to me, however old I was, that it was for a little kid. I was too grown up for that crap, but I was politely thankful to grandma. Or so I remember it.
What I don't remember is whether I used the pillow at all at that age. I'm pretty sure I must have put it away at some point, if not right away, because I don't remember having it with me in college, and I'm guessing that it only came out of the box again when I moved to Seattle after college. I do remember telling my girlfriend Robyn that I'd named it Flem, after the Faulkner character, Flem Snopes, and because I loved the word "phlegm". Robyn loved Flem, probably more than I did. By that point, in my mid-20s, I considered it some kind of ironic nostalgia thing, but it wasn't too long before I was hugging Flem tearfully in the wake of my break-up with Robyn.
That was over twenty years ago, and Flem has become a natural part of the landscape of my bed by now. Mostly I don't even think of him. He's just there -- another pillow. But when I got sick this weekend, Flem was the perfect pillow to put on top of my regular pillow to keep my head at the right angle so I could breathe at night while I was congested. As sentimental as it is, I felt my grandmother reaching through time to comfort me in my time of sickness.
I wasn't particularly close to either of my grandmothers, though I loved them both and they loved me. It just seemed natural, I guess. I have things that both of them gave me -- an afghan, two quilts, a crystal bowl, and a tray made from sliced walnut shells. And Flem. I take all of it too much for granted, but every now and again I stop and remember and feel my grandmother's love. It's a comfort, even now.
What I don't remember is whether I used the pillow at all at that age. I'm pretty sure I must have put it away at some point, if not right away, because I don't remember having it with me in college, and I'm guessing that it only came out of the box again when I moved to Seattle after college. I do remember telling my girlfriend Robyn that I'd named it Flem, after the Faulkner character, Flem Snopes, and because I loved the word "phlegm". Robyn loved Flem, probably more than I did. By that point, in my mid-20s, I considered it some kind of ironic nostalgia thing, but it wasn't too long before I was hugging Flem tearfully in the wake of my break-up with Robyn.
That was over twenty years ago, and Flem has become a natural part of the landscape of my bed by now. Mostly I don't even think of him. He's just there -- another pillow. But when I got sick this weekend, Flem was the perfect pillow to put on top of my regular pillow to keep my head at the right angle so I could breathe at night while I was congested. As sentimental as it is, I felt my grandmother reaching through time to comfort me in my time of sickness.
I wasn't particularly close to either of my grandmothers, though I loved them both and they loved me. It just seemed natural, I guess. I have things that both of them gave me -- an afghan, two quilts, a crystal bowl, and a tray made from sliced walnut shells. And Flem. I take all of it too much for granted, but every now and again I stop and remember and feel my grandmother's love. It's a comfort, even now.
