this is not a stuffed animal
Cleaning out a house that you used to live in -- long, long ago. You find surprises
Ce n'est pas un animal en peluche - this is not a stuffed animal. **
I was in the middle of a very fun dream where in, gathered in the large formal dining room, we, that is my... uhm, ... 'pride?' 'herd'? 'Murder'? of siblings (which may be as high as eight, but you must select your own number; but greater than e, i or zero) helping my mother decide what, from her Very Large House, to bring with her to her new abode - that is; she was down-sizing before moving.
And in this large dining room, upon its vast century old mahogany table, were placed many objects from her house. Being placed by my siblings for our selection. We were deciding up which things belonged to each of us, which objects belonged to this one or that one of my siblings, which were Mom's that she still wanted, and which were Mom's that she wanted to toss, or give to someone especially, what to donate, to gift further on, or what to toss into the garbage.
That is; "The sunflower sugar bowl is broken,... garbage?"
"Oh, dear God, no! I love that thing, give it here, I'll run some glue in the crack and it'll be fine!"
It was very odd to dream of that. I don't usually dream about stuff that is currently happening in real life. Usually I dream in allegory, in images that represent other things: a snake that is made up of kernels of corn, because it represents the evil eating corn on the cob, ... which you are forbidden because of wearing braces on your teeth. But this dream echoed that which was happening in real life.
"This beer stein?" Says Bill.
Margaret pipes up, "Oooooh, I want it!"
Bill continues, "I ...I don't think, errrr, this one's for you, Margie,..."
"Yeah, I need one, so I want it."
Thomas butts in, "No, Margaret, I don't think you want that one, it's the busty buxom barmaid stein...."
"Oh, gross! Thomas! Strong No, I wish to NOT have that one, throw it out! Eauuuwwww!"
"Yard sale it will be then. Who has that box?" Bill continues.
Janet: "Not I, Edward moved it into the hallway."
"Didn't!" Says Edward. "That is my box I moved out there, yard sale box is back under the table."
Julie looks into the almost empty box, "But there's hardly a thing in it, it's almost empty."
"Pay attention, Julie, that's the second box, the first is already filled and carried out. Do keep up," James says.
"Clamp down on the snark, James, she was washing her hands when it was carried out. Play nice, now." James looks away from Mom's rebuke.
Something woke me up, but in fact that was pretty much what was happening in real life.
If you are still with me here: some, I say; Some objects, carry more memories than others, some you wish to fight to have back, a few you didn't know where they were and here, you had left it at Mom's house, some were yours only you care not a fig for them now..."Here, take it."....
And then the large black steamer trunk in the attic, the heavy battered old trunk, so old but so well made comes to light. It is carried downstairs by your largest brother and your sister who goes to the gym every damn day, those two bring it down... it is opened,... and there is a fight immediate!
Grandmother's hand pieced quilt, and great-grandma's bed spread which was crocheted - not from string, but from heavy cord, half as thick as string, but spun nearly as hard as rope. It is a objet d' Art, one of those "I will fight you to the death for this," objects, ...
Woah! What? And no one but you wants it? Ok, that saved a lot of hard feelings. It is beautiful in a way, heavy and complex, and faded yellow with age, and represents perhaps months of work. It is a Queen sized bed spread, each square of crochet represents maybe 3-4 hours worth of work, ... say three hours, so a 12 inch by 9 inch piece is about 40 hours when you consider that each square is hooked into at least two other squares if not four others....
You feel so happy inside, and you are glowing to have it! In part because you didn't have to fight for it, but also you didn't think Mom would let it go. And all your questions vanish in a moment with the flash of a smile, ... Might Mom have told them it would be yours while you were out of the room? Who knows. But everyone is feeling good and everyone is as calm as might be expected, and then they lift the tray from the trunk to reveal the bottom two thirds of it - the main storage space - and nothing has prepared you for the emotional impact of what lies below.
There! Amidst the display of stuffed animals, the endangered species from around the world; Larry the lion (listen to me roar!), and the tigers, and bears. Between the penguins, and seals, kitties and doggers, ... with a sharp intake of breath you freeze, and someone reaches in and hands you,...
Mr. Bun!
Dun-dun- DUN!!!!
Nothing has prepared you for the emotional weight of this moment. Of the twenty or so stuffed animals, the plush and the woven, the velveteen or the terry cloth, sits the only stuffed animal you really ever felt close to, Mr. Bunny.... Mr. bun for those close or familiar, Mr. Bunny for those whom he has not yet allowed to become his intimate acquaintances. And as your closest sibling, the one who knows your heart the best, hands Mr. Bun to you, your heart gives a squeeze. All Unexpected, you throat closes up, and tears squeeze out. You have no idea why this is happening, you don't want to tear up in front of your family, but your heart gives you no say in the matter, you were not consulted, or even considered. You are going to have to wipe the tears away, in front of your Mom and brothers and sisters, not only have you no reason to cry, you have no freaking idea why this is happening to you? Why?
Everyone looks at you, you see them looking at you. You know that they are going to tease you without pause - without mercy - they will gang up on you and laugh at your childish sentimentality! You want to grimace and frown back at them, defiantly - show them your mettle, your sterner stuffing.
But as you start to make the defiant face, you realize it just makes you look like you will break out in sobs, so you stop trying to toughen up, ... and,.... Realize, ...
No one is looking at you. The room is silent. You see everyone is looking down; at the stuff on the table, or at the pictures on the wall, Elizabeth is gazing out through the window - far off into the distance. Expressions showing on their faces are so soft and their smiles so wistful, almost as they are embarrassed, but not of you. No, you see they are not embarrassed to see your emotion. They are embarrassed at their petty envy at seeing the raw joy splashed across your face upon seeing something lost, something so dear, your favorite plushy that hasn't seen daylight in sixty years.
This is not a stuffed animal, this is my first friend, my first pet, ... though it wasn't alive
** apologies to Rene M.