Feathers: A Summertime Saga
Posted August 7th, 2008 by JB Reynolds
In the distant undemanding past, in those trouble-free days B.C. (Before Children), unburdened as we were even by cordless telephones, car alarms or e-mail, my wife and I were given a fluffy eiderdown comforter as an anniversary present. I expect it cost a fortune as my mother, the donor, was typically generous with this kind of thing; it certainly seemed big enough, sitting there all boxed up on our porch one afternoon, like a smallish hippopotamus packed for transport. I fancied the FedEx driver must have felt grateful to get half his van freed up for the trip home.
Interestingly, the comforter after being unpacked started to expand itself even further until it assumed its full pneumatic grandeur, an impossibly soft slab almost as thick as our mattress and considerably broader. A Colossal Comforter. We were impressed.
I still remember the look of serenity on my wife’s face when she wrapped the thing around herself to give it a test-drive: the poor woman nearly melted with delight. She was instantly warm - toasty, snuggly, deeply warm, maybe for the first time since we’d moved up to Northern California from balmy Los Angeles a few years previous.
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s on how to save it. The frugal among us have known for years that you don’t gun the engine just so you can slam on the brakes at the next stop light, and you don’t drive unnecessarily, and you don’t drive around with the car (or truck) loaded with things you’re not using or transporting from here to there. That just makes good sense.