She really was. She wasn’t at all sad, unlike a woman who’d teared up when she gave me her old doll, while insisting she wanted to clean things out so her children wouldn’t have to.
I hear that a lot, and it sounds like a good idea, but sometimes people are doing themselves a minor violence. Sometimes they force themselves to get rid of clutter, but it’s not “clutter” if your heartstrings are attached. Things have souls too.
People will say, “I don’t want my kids to have to clean up.”
I say, yeah, clean up your your medical life, and leave your finances in order! But if you’re still loving your things, let someone else donate them when you’re gone. Your kids? I’m sure you cleaned up a lot of their crap.
Efficiency is not the highest good. Unless it is for you, in which case it’s not violating you, giving away childhood toys. I think this donor was like that—truly ready to clear the clutter.
Anyway, I took the woman’s little golden mohair bear for myself. She said, “I thought you’d like that” (though we’ve never met to my recollection—she certainly might have seen me working). Now I’m kicking myself for not asking her Bear’s name.
Bear had a bandaid on its leg. “This needs air,” the girlettes declared.
“Will it hurt?”
It didn’t hurt a bit. A shin tear reveals the stuffing of excelsior (wood shavings)—a small operation will take care of it. A colorful patch maybe?
It doesn’t hamper Bear’s mobility at all. Excelsior! I think Bear is named Pat, for the character in Silver Linings Playbook whose motto that is. Hm, or Tiffany, the other character. The name means to shine forth. “I want both names!”
Okay then. TiffanyPat.
