If my house is an expression of who I am, hmm… There are a few things that really miss the mark or at the very least are sadly outdated. Am I the only one who ends up with shrines to something that is long-gone if it was ever important at all?
I have a basket full of stuffed animals that sits at the foot of the trundle bed in the guest bedroom.
Okay, I’m a grandmother; but my youngest grandchild is 11 and I’ve never once seen him run to the basket when he visits.
And I’m not that kind of person to sleep among the animals, real or personified. Even as a child I don’t think I ever snuggled up to a piece of cloth unless it was my sister’s nightgown with her in it. And yet I have two rooms* in my house that would make one think that I am trapped forever in a childhood I can’t remember.
I have walked by this particular basket hundreds of time. At least twenty times in the last 3 or 4 years I have stopped to consider this heap of supposed joy and wondered, “What’s up with that?”
Several times I have taken a couple of the sweet, lifeless beasts and transported them the local child abuse task force. (They give like-new stuffed animals to children as comfort.)
I have always retained a few for some sentimental reason. Oooh, there’s the monkey that my middle grandson (or was it the third granddaughter?) wanted and couldn’t afford so I bought it for them to sleep with it when they visited. And there is the bear that a friend gave me when my niece was killed. It was a wonderful gesture twenty-two years ago. (I remember my niece in countless other ways.)
I have forgotten the provenance of the rest, so what’s the rationale? That a child may visit who will want to play with these because all other toys are gone from our house?
I’ll put it on top of the dryer with the clothespins and be ready for action.
I’ve always loved to fold washing into neat piles. It’s brings a little order into my self-created chaotic life.
That’s who I am.