paisleypiper's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- still a lot of magic in that fella I have a winnie the pooh that I've had since I was a baby. When I was eleven I left it, accidentally, in a hotel in Florida. Grief striken, I could not sleep until Pooh arrived in the mail. This was my bear, the bear that when my little heart broke I would hold and cry to as I tried to learn about the world and its disappointments. When I opened the package and saw my little Pooh bear I proclaimed "there's still a lot of magic in that little fella." Alongside this love for the bear was my belief that the Velveteen Rabbit story was real, and that somehow, Pooh was real too. At least the comfort I felt seemed real. Gradually I was learning to comfort myself through this bear. I've always kept the bear, moving with it, giving it a place on a bookshelf. It reminds me of everything I've learned about the world. It also reminds me what it is like to be a kid again. Last night, I suggested that Quinn hold the bear and we were talking about the bear and that magic in the little fella. We put him up on a shelf we thought was high enough. This morning we went to work and forgot to put up the back gate to the kitchen. The dog, who was watching us with the bear and told that he could not have the bear, went after Pooh in our absense. Tore off his eyes and removed bunches of orange stuffing, strewning it around the house. It is funny though, it doesn't seem to ruin the bear, who was barely together as it was. And we retrieved the little button eyes. But still, it seems like a terrible fate for the magic fella. Counter that with death among the snap dragons. Last night, a possum died in our bed of snap dragons. We have the scent of death lingering in the heat of the drought-ridden backyard. It seems to huver and there is no breeze to lessen its intensity. What strange events -- real animal death and this massacre of my bear by the dog. I'm waiting for something new to grow from these symbolic destructions. Not that they are like the death of people or loved ones, it is more just that odd sense of what the world is like. It seems metaphorical like the lessons of childhood. 6:44 p.m. - 2003-08-15 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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