Saving The World, One Bear At A Time

Is it possible to have writer's block when you are not actually a writer? I picture a frustrated middle aged writer slumped over an old Smith Corona typewriter, doodling with a pencil, half full cup of coffee getting cold, the sound of a fan in the background whirring stale air. Ok, that isn't me. But, I just can't seem to get back into the habit of blogging. There are thoughts that cross my mind all the time, I just don't have enough to follow to make it worth my (or yours) time to enter it. Currently, I am watching an episode of "Hoarders" on A&E. On this episode, a former nurse hoards stuffed animals and dolls. Which brings two points to mind. One, it just affirms my belief that all. nurses. are. crazy. Secondly, stuffed animals-in-peril is a problem close to my heart.

If I won the lottery, I would open both a dogs-in-peril rescue sanctuary; as well as a stuffed animal rescue. It breaks my heart to see a teddy-in-peril. I hate to see bears that have fallen out of cars. Bears attached to the fence in front of a dead person's house...out in the rain. Bears in the trash. It near about kills me! It is my mom's fault. She thought it would be a good idea to give inanimate objects animation and feelings to entertain me as a child. However, she quickly found that it would be an effective tool to get me to do stuff. When I didn't clean my room, it made my stuffed bassett hound cry. If I said a cross word, my panda wept. Arguing upset the bunnies. So, instead of entertaining me, the sensitive stuffed animals basically gave me a huge guilt complex. To this day, I have never been able to throw a stuffed animal away. I can just imagine him sitting in the trash, thinking of why I didn't love him anymore, and it depresses me. Rationally, I know this is ridiculous. Emotionally, I feel attached to every stuffed animal I encounter. I have a rule in retail...if I pick it up, I am required to buy it. This applies to my shopping companions too. As I see my friend reach towards the pillowy soft toy, I blurt the rule out, "IF YOU PICK THAT UP, YOU WILL HAVE TO BUY IT!" This usually leads to a quick explanation of why this is, because if you pick up the stuffed animal, you get his hopes up that he is going to his forever home, only to have his hopes dashed when you discard him back into the pile of unwanted toys. This explanation usually leads to fewer shopping trips with said companion, which leads to fewer phone calls, and eventually, I become a joke shared between said shopping companion and his/her new best friend/shopping companion. Also, I should mention that my mom is a nurse.

So anyway, with my lottery winnings, I would purchase a large van. I would ride around and look for bears-in-peril. Not just bears, all things stuffed would be included. The bear would then be transported back to my shop (also purchased with lottery winnings) where he would be treated to a fine rehabilitation. The bear would then be displayed proudly. Not for sale. Not to give away to some ungrateful snotty child. Displayed and loved. By me.

Now, before someone calls A&E or Adult Protective Services, I am not crazy. My house is clutter free. I just have a tender heart and a very vivid imagination, which at times is not such a good thing. I am not a weirdo who hoards dolls. I would spend the majority of my lottery winnings on normal things, such as a condo in Pass-a-Grille and diamond bezel cut earrings that I would wear while playing tennis with the mediocre player that I hire to be on call when I feel like playing tennis. And, probably, some good intensive psychotherapy...which I think everyone could use a little of. But, it would make me seriously happy to give the "Velveteen Rabbit" treatment to every poor sun bleached soggy discarded stuffed animal I happen upon.

As I mentioned before, my home is clutter free. I find it only fitting that all those stuffed animals that I just could not bring myself to throw away, for fear of hurting their "feelings" are comfortably situated....

at my mother's house.