Heffalumps and Woozles

The Hundred Acre Wood was a second home.  When I was a child its inhabitants were my friends.  I made jokes and told stories about them; still as an adult, I attribute their characteristics to people I know (as in, "don't be such an Eeyore", or "Your bouncing is going to get you into trouble, Tigger")  some of my favorite sayings in life came from the pages of its book..."It is more fun to talk with someone who doesn't use long, difficult words but rather short, easy words like 'What about lunch?'", and , "This writing business. Pencils and what-not. Over-rated, if you ask me. Silly stuff. Nothing in it."

When I was a girl, I had an eight-track tape with the entire works of AA Milne recorded and narrated.  I listened to it for hours on end, as I read along with my hard-back, illustrated copies of the very books being narrated.  At the time, it was a modern marvel.  I think that's actually how I learned to read, come to think of it.  I loved the sound of Tigger's bouncing, of Eeyore's melancholy, or Kanga's sweet mothering... they all had something most admirable in their character.  Even Rabbit, my least favorite friend, was loved for his hard work ethic and his organizational skills.  I believe I actually learned life lessons there, in the Hundred Acre Wood.

My copy of my beloved book is, as you can imagine, threadbare and love-worn.  It has dog-eared pages and childish ink drawings on the cover.  It has held a special place on the shelf as an "heirloom", too fragile to enjoy any longer.  Occasionally I'd dust it off and carefully open to the watercolor illustrations and hear the voices of my friends jump out of the pages at me, but I'd just as carefully put it back again, with a loving touch, like an invalid tucked into bed.

Last month we were shopping at a a discount used book store and my husband and I lingered over the "antique" books while waiting for the kids to finish their shopping.  He pulled a book off the shelf and opened it, the cover crackling in the unmistakeable sound of newness.  He said, "Look at this."  I was already looking at an old copy of Pride and Predjudice, and wasn't realy interested in a new book - what was it doing in antiques anyway - but looked, just to be polite (Pooh taught me that.)  You already know... it was an original copy of the Hundred Acre Wood, my copy, full of voices and bright, fresh, watercolored illustrations, and ink drawings.  Not in a childish hand.

I felt like I had just found a long-lost friend I didn't even realize I was missing.  I laughed out loud, and wanted to cry.  My dear husband bought that book and brought it home, and now I once again have the wonders of the stories and friends of the woods to keep me company.  And I can finally share them with my children.  They can learn that a bedtime snack is really just "a little something" and that "If you want to make a song more hummy, add a few tiddely poms", and most importantly, "A little Consideration, a little Thought for Others, makes all the difference."