So the woman returned from San Francisco with her Good Fortune pillow and added it to the collection on the daybed in her office. While a worthy addition, the Good Fortune pillow didn’t quell the desire the woman had for a romantic, spectacularly tacky pillow like the one she remembered from her childhood. 

Still seeking the pillow of her vision, she searched the cyber world for a substitute, but found nothing to match her imagination. She expressed her disappointment and her unfilled desire in a blog post, sending the wish into the ether, hoping for some insight, some direction, some retail outlet to meet her need. 

Months passed and nothing materialized. No direction via comments on her blog. No insight. No retail outlet. She should give up , she told herself. Be satisfied with what you have, her conscience commanded. After all, she possessed the kitschy, romantic Texas pillow. She had her Good Fortune pillow. Most of all, she had the great good fortune of her life–her husband, her sons, her home, her good friends. She was happy with these things. 

She tucked away her vision and gave up her obsession, settling into the daily routine of her life. Writing in her office, she’d gaze at the Texas pillow and think of romance, of love, of innocent sweethearts and delicate passion. The Good Fortune pillow inspired her to work harder for surely good fortune would follow. And so the days passed and the work progressed. 

Then her son, Jon, brought home Lisa–a golden princess of great beauty and greater compassion. Unbeknownst to the woman, Lisa understood the woman’s desire for the unusual. Lisa related to the pretty side of ugly that creates tacky. And she took it upon herself to find a pillow that might fill the void in the woman’s pillow collection. 

On Christmas morning, the woman opened a gift from Lisa. It appeared to be an ordinary package. Possibly a sweater. Perhaps a scarf. But, beyond the wrapping paper and beneath the tissue lay an exquisite gold fringed, gleaming satin pillow with the Golden Gate Bridge embroidered in glittering red thread! A sparkling clear stone lit the topmost point of the bridge and a tiny blue truck traversed the span.

The woman gasped with delight! It was the pillow she’d wanted. Too beautiful to be tacky, but exactly right. And Lisa, the good, golden princess beamed with joy. The two women understood. 

THE  END

The Third Pillow

Together at last

The girl grew into a woman, and she did travel. She journeyed by car, train, and by airplane. She went North and South. She went East and West. Her collection of travel treasures included trivets, towels, t-shirts. Sometimes she brought home salt and pepper shakers or postcards. Her shelf of memories contained a miniature Chrysler Building, a tiny Statue of Liberty, and a glass apple. From Mexico City she brought a three inch pyramid and a tiny stone Olmec.

But search as she may, she never found a pillow like her mother had showed her as a girl. Of course, now that she was a woman she knew her mother’s pillow was NOT beautiful. In fact, it was spectacularly tacky. But she still loved it and wanted one of her own from one of her trips. 

Eventually, she traveled to San Francisco. Here, she thought, is where I will find a wonderful, tacky, glorious pillow. After all there was the Golden Gate bridge, the hills, the trolley cars, the bay. All of those thing together with gold fringe would be just the thing. 

In San Francisco, she searched high and low. She scoured Chinatown and all the linen outlets she could find. She and her friends spent hours looking for the pillow of her imagination. It seemed that no one else had the vision for tacky pillows she had. So she bought a pillow in Chinatown that said, “Good Fortune.” Maybe it would bring her good fortune in her search for THE pillow. To be continued…

Once upon a time a young girl knelt on the floor beside her mother as the woman opened a deep wooden chest. Trembling with curiosity,  the girl leaned forward to see the treasures in the chest. A shimmer of gold beneath an old book caught her attention. “What is this, Mama?” 

Mama laughed and tugged the fringe from the bottom of the chest. “Bobby gave this to me a long, long time ago.” Mama flattened the fabric across her knees and smiled. Letting the silky fringe slip over her fingers, she said, “Bobby was my first boyfriend. Long before I knew your Daddy.” The fringe was attached to a colorful picture of a far away place–Texas. 

Mama read the poem on the pillow cover.

Sweetheart

I thought that you would like to know

That someone’s thoughts go where you go.

That life is richer sweeter far.

For such a sweetheart as you are. 

The young girl sighed with the romance of it. This boy had loved her mother enough that he thought of her while he was so far away–in Texas. The pillow cover with all it’s bright colors and sweet words and gold fringe seemed to be everything interesting and romantic and adventurous to the young girl. She determined that one day she would travel to far away places–like Texas, and even beyond–and she would collect beautiful things to remind her of love and adventure. 

Mama folded the cloth and put it back in the chest. She closed the lid, trapping the glimmering golden fringe and cedar aroma until the next time the treasure chest would be opened. The girl locked away in her memory the image of the pillow cover and planned her journeys from the swing set in the back yard.

To be continued…

The Texas Sweetheart Pillow

Perfect travel would always be serendipitous, don’t you think? A happy journey of sweet and memorable events?  Alas, travel is hardly ever perfect. Even the best laid plans fall victim to traffic jams, mechanical failures, operator error.  In April we took our new motor-coach on a cross country journey–Florida to California and back in two weeks. Fourteen days of new scenery rolling beyond our windows. Fourteen days worth of serendipity. As many fortunate discoveries as our wee little minds could recognize.

Jonas gives T tips on handling Storm

4 year old Curtis teaches T how to rope

Jonas and I took a few turns around the ring as the sun was setting. He said he didn’t think anything was quite a pretty as a New Mexico sunset. I think I’d have to agree. When the sun slipped below the pink and purple mountains on the horizon, we reined in the horses and took them back to the trailer for their dinner.

Strolling down Kerouac Alley, we stopped to read the quotes inset in the bricks, appreciating the insight and wisdom of some of our most famous authors and spokesmen for a generation.

The quiet of the store approached reverence, though we did whisper among ourselves wondering where they kept the romance novels. Not finding a large selection of romance (actually, none) we made it to the poetry section. Finally, I settled on a copy of DHARMA BUMS by Kerouac and a great little book on defining poetry by Ferlinghetti. Unfortunately, no Ferlinghetti sightings today.

If you go to San Francisco, wear some flowers in your hair and visit the City Lights Bookstore.

The second thing on my list was an old fashioned souvenir pillow complete with the Golden Gate Bridge embroidered in glittery red and gold thread on creamy satin and trimmed with flashy gold fringe. I think I remember my grandmother having something like that on her sofa, and I just adored it. It was about the most beautiful thing my child’s eyes beheld.

As I  cruised the Geary Street shops with Mary Louise Wells and Debbie Pfeiffer (pictured left), we did find a number of treasures. Of course parasols had to be purchased for our girls back home, along with the ubiquitous Alcatraz coffee mug for my hubby, a jade dragon for my personal power and several good fortune and wealth charms for my office. Since I killed by Lucky Bamboo plant, I thought a few new good luck charms in my writing office were a wise investment.

 Oh, back to the quest for the pillow. None to be found. At least none as fabulously kitchie as the one of my memory. I settled for a rather nice pillow cover with the Chinese words for good fortune embroidered in  scarlet and gold.

And no honey, I won’t put it in the living room.

Of course, even though I’m having more fun than should be legal, I don’t usually take things at surface value. I have to examine a little deeper and what I came up with after an evening of dancing my toes off is that this party is a celebration of women–all shapes, all sizes, all ages.

On the dance floor we shed our inhibitions, our worries, our cares, our career pressures, and shake our booties like there’s no tomorrow. It’s liberating to watch small groups of dancers performing spontaneous choreography, corny though it may be. It’s fun to let loose and play with our sexuality in a way we never would’ve if the crowd were more equally male and female.

So, the next time you get a chance, I hope you, too, dance, dance, dance.

While noshing on truffle pate, smoked duck and assorted cheeses, “The Free Three” decided we didn’t really want to be publisher-free any longer. It’s time for us to get down, dirty and serious with our writing careers. In the Mark’s suave atmosphere, with a background of live jazz and the city spread at our feet, we made a pact. For the next twelve months, until the 2009 RWA Conference in Washington, D.C., we’re going to give it our all and push for a contract in twelve months. We made plans of action, along with a commitment to blog about our progress on each of our websites under the topic Contract in 12. You can follow our ups and downs, highs and lows and join the celebration as each of us sign the dotted line on a publishing contract at the end of the Twelve. At least, that’s the plan.

This meeting of minds in the sky must have been fated, because as we departed and asked for a cab, we were ushered to the hotel limo and introduced to our driver–Clovis, the beautiful Brazilian man pictured above. What can I say?

Not only was he a very, very good driver (and very helpful with my seat belt since my hand was in a cast), he was easy on the eyes with a fab sense of humor, a mellifluous voice and seductive accent. Needless to say, this was the best ride I had in San Francisco.