I started to read to my collection of stuffies at bedtime about a month ago.
No matter how filled with self doubt, worry, sadness or stress I might be at bedtime - or even just plain tiredness - when I crack open one of my favorite story collections, it washes away.
I miss sharing these words with a small human. My small human towers over me now. And he only lends me his small human for overnights occasionally. For now, my stuffed animal friends, some of my own making, will do nicely.
Last night, we all enjoyed a lively reading of In Which Piglet Is Entirely Surrounded by Water. Milne's run-on sentence at the end had the same soporific effect on me that Owl's story had on Piglet. I pulled myself back just in time to save Piglet from slipping into the flood.
Uncle Wiggily, My Book House, Hans Christian Andersen, the fairy tales of Oscar Wilde, and best of all, the stories of Pooh and Piglet and Christopher Robin, are all reminders that imagination rules.
Our imaginations, or MY imagination, can draw pictures of drastic events foreshadowed by the day's stresses. Can I ever unearth my desk? And if I don't, will bills go unpaid? And if they do go unpaid, will I get into debt? And if I... and those are not even big worries, like saving the world from climate change, or reuniting children with their parents.
Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy just sends Uncle Wiggily on an errand and, voila!, all is right with the world.
Hearing the words, as I look at Howard Garis' drawings with Felina FairyFox and Nutty Romomlia, - it's a time machine, a voyage into innocence.
It is the best time of my day.
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