Until Daniel's stole, I had not sewn anything for quite some time. Tonight I tackled another project. It's a long story, but there is a bear (more of a plush bearskin, like a rug) passed around at work. We are encouraged to take out all our frustrations on the bear (not the public, right?). The person with the most horrendous customer service story of the week gets the bear until the next staff meeting. We are supposed to do something to this poor bear.
Now, since the bear is my sacred totem, this is quite painful for me.
When the concept was presented I was wincing internally. It. Is. Just. So. Wrong.
Back when I could afford cleaning folks I did not allow them to pick up my kids by the arm.
I got the bear last Wednesday.
The bear has spent the weekend with my kids. Tonight I took some coarse brown fabric and some dark gray satin and made a vest for the bear. No buttons, no fancy decorative top stitching, just a plain vest, but one with finished hems.
You didn't expect me to pierce it, tear it, beat it, or humiliate it, did you?
No, of course you didn't.
May the vest be an enfolding of love around the bear's heart, no matter what ensues.
All bears should be loved.
--the BB
PS: BB could also stand for Boris Bear (my nom d'ours).
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6 comments:
Oh, that is so sweet and dear. I felt consoled just reading it. (I'm having one of those weeks, feeling kind of like that bearskin.) Nobody should beat up on bears. The concept of passing something around is good, but a punching ball would be a better idea. I don't think punching balls have feelings.
Having met you, I assumed it also stood for BIG Bear.
Paul, I pray that I was properly respectful in my handling of your daughters when we met in New Orleans - that is, if I dared to touch them at all.
How lovely that you made the vest-of-love for the bear. I'll bet that he won't even feel the blows now.
WV: "androgyr". What on earth...?
Susankay, I cannot fault your logic, though my cartoon alter ego is "little Bori Bear."
Mimi, you were incredibly sweet to my daughters and they adore you (and miss you).
I suppose androgyrs are running amok again. That is so like them.
Borisa,
You are loved
Bogomir Afanasevich Petipa
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