IN WHICH THIS PIGLET REMEMBERS WINTER DAYS WITH POOH
Once, during a long, Minnesota winter, my young daughter and
I spent our days living as Piglet and Pooh.
As Piglet, I fretted; as Pooh, my daughter offered calm. In our old two-story house, our own Hundred
Acre Wood, we went on expotitions, admired Christopher Robin, took advice from
Owl, doted on sweet Roo. Pooh stopped by
in search of honey, or stood under an umbrella waiting for the rain. When I was scared of the unknown, he held my
hand. That winter, A.A. Milne’s books, and
the characters he’d created, were as real to us as the never-ending snow
outside our door.
Those young days with my daughter disappeared, still every Christmas
season we unpack the little mailbox where Pooh and Piglet left each other letters
long ago. That winter, before she was a
reader, my daughter could decipher Piglet’s simple messages, and the notes that
filled our mailbox were cryptic little letters, simple child drawings Pooh and Piglet understood. Piglet wrote to Pooh; and Pooh wrote
back. And those letters meant so much to us, they're still inside that box
How far we were that Minnesota winter from A.A. Milne and his
1920’s England, yet how present his work was in our quiet, daily lives. What he’d once imagined, we imagined; and we
took it to our hearts, and made his story ours.
Even to this day I am my Pooh’s Piglet.
Who can guess the power of a book: the way the characters
are company, the way they are our friends, the way they teach us how to live
and love?
Thank you A.A. Milne for those winter days of dreams.
MRY KRSMS POO
Such a lovely tradition Sheila! And a wonderful post. Thanks for sharing this walk with Poo.
ReplyDeleteThanks so much for reading. It's quite amazing how a book can shape our days.
DeleteYES! Characters make for incredible company.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful post, Sheila!
ReplyDeleteWhat wonderful memories to share!
ReplyDelete