Well Loved Things

Before I was a writer I knew about Well Loved Things...

Well Loved Things have small ears, big ears, no ears at all, or perhaps floppy ears that once stood straight. They have some fur or patchy fur or fur coats that need patching or sticky patches of fur where ice-cream fingers hold them tight.

Well Loved Things have long tails or missing tails or tails that need sewing and seams that need stitching. Well Loved Things are missing that new smell, that 'just opened smell' and now, they just smell. Well Loved Things are torn, pulled, fought over, squashed, folded and threadbare. They are missing one button eye, both button eyes, two whiskers, the hat they came with, an arm and the velvet off the once black nose. But Well Loved Things don't care. Their flaws are completely undetected.

They are never missing their child... unless of course...

...they fall from shelves or bedposts or back packs on the first day of school. Well Loved Things fall from cribs and car seats and highchairs and prams and often from sleeping children's hands onto the bedroom floor. Well Loved Things fall from bicycle baskets and buckets and boxes and all sorts of hidy holes. They fall from adventures in doll houses, car garages and the tops of castles and cubby house landings.

Yes, Well Loved Things fall a lot, such is the life of a Well Loved Thing.

But Well Loved Things don't care.

Well Loved Things are too busy taking weekly, sometimes daily, trips around and around in the washing machine or important trips to the dentist or doctors office clasped in the arms of their child. They take trips to the beach, the park, Great Aunt Martha's house and maybe even to church on Sunday morning. Well Loved Things are busy being tucked up under blankets and suffocated beneath little arms, only to resurface at the bottom of bedsheets the following morning.

And Well Loved Things wouldn't have it any other way.

Well Loved Things are lost under cuddles when the thunder shakes the skies above, or lost beneath tears when nothing about the day went right. They are lost in cinemas, in grocery carts, in Mommy's bag, in the car or sometimes even over night at Nan and Pops. Well Loved Things spread sunshine when they are found and sighs of relief from worried parents who know they can never replace a Well Loved Thing.

And Well Loved Things wouldn't have it any other way.

Well Loved Things are quiet, when listening is needed and loud, when silence is scary. They are friends in darkness and solitude in crowds of faces. Well Loved Things keep secretes and tell no tales. They are the friends that never grow old, even when their seams burst, stuffing breaks forth and their child out grows them. Well Loved Things never leave, at least not on purpose, and they never forget. They remain, they are still, they are fixed in time and waiting... because

Well Loved Things are the important stuff of childhood.

And Well Loved Things wouldn't have it any other way.

My Well Loved Thing had a name. Mingy. A mangy teddy mouse with a scrappy tail. And even now I long to find him. In a box, somewhere, he still lives. Mingy isn't really lost, as Well Loved Things never are, because somewhere a child remembers. Even if they are now an adult.

In a box in my mind I have him safe.

A well loved thing that I loved well.

And now I am a writer I use my knowing of Well Loved Things to craft that same feeling in the words I write. I want my books to be the kinds of friends that never leave and never forget. The kind you can revisit. The kind that always have arms wide opened.

What about you? What Well Loved Thing do you have boxed in your mind? And what do you dream of crafting in your books?