As I sat down this morning to write my dear friend, Priscilla Partridge, I realized two things: 1) I must be a bit of a luddite to still turn to my pen and ink and 2) Twigs comfort pillows are the only way to support the back when corresponding!
Dare I say the modern era has forgotten about cushions? (They've nearly gone the way of written correspondence!)
Thank goodness I had a successful spell at Northern Westchester Hospital (NWH) a few years ago. The doctors made me right as rain, I received the two comfort pillows pictured here (you know them from their dainty dimensions, charming textiles, and silken tags emblazoned with Twigs motif), and I felt so keenly cared for throughout my stay. . . I have since become a Twigs volunteer myself!
Priscilla and I have a long-standing tradition of letter-writing. You might even say we are pen pals. "Birds of a feather flock together" is our expression. Nesting in my Twigs comfort pillows, I considered what to tell Priscilla about my upcoming Valentine's Party.
Such flights of fancy!
Should the party be intimate?
Should it be grand?
Should it have chocolate fountains, red painted roses, handsome young pages on hand?
All I know is that my party will require written invitations. And that messenger pigeons will deliver them, rather than those unreliable es-car-gots of snail-mail or worse. . . the easily distracted emu of electronic mail. (How often have you had essential correspondence flown to the wrong bin!?)
Therefore, a letter, with love, from a luddite is what I penned dear Priscilla this morning. The particulars of my party will come next. . . If only I knew where to procure magnificent comfort pillows, similar to the ones handmade by the Twigs ladies. They cannot be purchased, naturally, and are only acquired through a period of convalescence at NWH.
Oh, to festoon every seat in my home with these dreamy and ideally-dimensioned cushions! To hold a Valentine's Party that would have everyone "writing home" per the expression!
P.S. Priscilla Partridge hasn't heard I'm trying my hand at blogging. Please don't let her know. . .
. . . TO BE CONTINUED . . .