Old Friends

When these two old friends turned up on my doorstop tonight my initial reaction was to look at them with a somewhat critical eye. They are definitely not in the shape they were when crafted oh so many years ago.

“Perhaps I should just throw them out,” I suggested. “No way,” says Little Bear. These are going in my room.”  They definitely need a few touch ups. Little Bear suggested a new jacket. “You can make one, Gram.” And I can. It just takes a little effort. Just a little.

How easily we throw away the good stuff, ever in search of something brighter, so terribly eager to replace quality with the bright brassy shine of the latest Walmart version. Yes, they are a little worn, a little tattered, but nothing a wee bit of love and attention can’t fix. Sort of like with real people. And like real people, they come with stories.

I remember well working on them, Mom and I working together, side by side, likely getting ready to open our little shop for the Christmas season.  Christmas was special in so many ways and this, the sewing, the decorating, was but one. Mom is gone now but perhaps I can salvage these two.

The boys seem to think I can.

They’ve been asleep now for ages.

I lay down with Litte Bear for a bit and tonight I shared a made-up story I used to tell the oldest when he was just a tiny tot. In came Sam to listen first, and then Max. Four of us contributing to a silly, impossible story that began long ago, with the story and the four of us tangled together like silly string in Little Bear’s single bed. It was fun. It was special.

A nice evening. Old friends and old stories.