One way to hold on to a lost friend

            I am a firm believer in the wisdom of childhood. Those boundary regions where magic and realism coexist hold something mysterious and important, worth revisiting, worth tapping into when we’re stuck at work, scrubbing potatoes, arguing with the insurance company. Children are attuned to something that we’d do well to remember – an openness to possibility, to trust, to the essence of things. It allows them to befriend with total, loving commitment – people, animals, bugs, inanimate objects. As children, we reside in a hopeful world.
            “Her” was a gray patchwork, male elephant, stuffed with old nylons. He lost two of his buttoned-on legs and had rose-colored needlework eyes that held mine lovingly whenever we talked. My old friend disappeared in the course of time, but I drew his picture for an artist, who tattooed Her on my leg, where he can’t get lost again.
            Tomorrow – Her’s origin story.
 
My 60th year in 60,000 words
Day 275: 147 words, TOTAL = 46,356; 13,644 remaining