Tragedy and Tears in the Desert

Dear Blog-

The unthinkable has happened and my whole world has changed. You read about these horrible tragedies that occur, and while you feel a certain degree of human sympathy for the innocent victims - and who could not? - you don't understand what a life-changing event it is until you experience such a thing yourself. How on one side of the divide your life jogs along in the old way, and in the next instant, in just an eye-blink, everything has changed. Such a tragedy has befallen your devastated correspondant, Dear Blog.

Last week I went into work to teach, and I proudly brought along two of my knitted and felted pears to show off to our shop owner. I think all knitters know that it is true that you can admire a photo of a knitted thing greatly, but even such true admiration pales beside the emotions one experiences when face to face with the real thing. So I thought I would lighten the day of everyone I encountered, and show them my knitted and felted pears in the flesh, so to speak. I handed two of them to Lynn and said, This is the one I made according to the original directions, and here is the one that I did my way. Well! Need I even say that she was truly admiring and fell on them with a glad cry - of course she was and of course she did - and I went back to the classroom with a skip in my step and a song in my heart for having made someone's day. I enjoyed a very pleasant session of teaching, and it was only on my return to the front of the shop that I realized that I had taken the fatal steps that would lead me to my own deep and tragic loss.

I came upon Lynn once again petting the pears fondly, as I had left her two hours before, and with a glowing countenance she declared that she had been planning to bring the small display cabinet back out to the front counter, and these pears are going to look wonderful on top of the display case! My God! What have I done???

What could I say, Dear Blog? I'm a youngest child. I never had anything of my own that wasn't someone else's first. When I wasn't just a way station for toys and clothes that were taking a small rest on their journey to the person after me. I've never given a thing up with grace, even now in my late 40s. But I couldn't just wrest them out of her hands, could I? I couldn't say, No! Those are MY pears! Give them back! Then push her down and take them away, sobbing all the while. Could I?

So I guess I am just going to have to knit and felt more pears, even as I plot the eventual liberation of the felted pears I have lost. At least I have photos to remember their dear selves by.

SOB! I must end this missive now, I am too torn up to write any further...