This Little Light Of Mine

Our Teddy Pocket Bear turns 49 today. Dave and I have been friends for a good bit now. We’ve spent many an hour chatting and commiserating over life and its ever movable feast. We’ve seen the river wash us both out to sea, sometimes at the same time, and he has always had a life preserver to toss my way. What’s special and fine about Dave? Only everything. He truly is a flesh and blood Pooh Bear, filled with the wisdom and kindness that brings his faithful back to him. Yes, he doesn’t suffer fools gladly; and he sometimes hails more from Tasmania than the 100 Acre Wood. But he is as solid as an iron girder in his friendship – once you’re in, you are in, and you don’t have to worry about it. My husband always says that a friend is a gift you give yourself. That’s true enough, and I made out like a bandit in the true blue pal department with a certain Dave Patrick.

One of the things I always try to impress upon him is that he is perfect as-is. He writes like a Nobel laureate; razors could be sharpened to a fine edge on his acerbic wit; and he is quite easy on the eyes. But the best attribute of Dave is his steadfastness as a friend. If I need anything, anything at all, I know I can depend on him, even if it’s just a shoulder to cry on, a chest to bounce ideas off of, or a place to let my hair down; he has a way that has always made me feel so much better after our chats over the years.

I’ve taken several stabs at writing this missive; not out of laziness, mind you – but how do you translate the feelings in a friendship successfully? Where do you find the glossary of terms? It’s hard to imagine a life without Dave in it. I’ve lived more years without you, Daveyboy, than I’ve had with you in my world, and that part of our friendship sucks. I can only wish we live long enough to balance the scales of missed opportunities.

I would love to have written a poem for you Dave. And rest assured, something will eventually fall out of the twisted treetops of my imagination for you, like emotional acorns and leaves of utter sentiment.

But today, I leave you with a poem written about another teddy bear; it’s a story about a creature who only sees his imagined shortcomings and self-perceived failings, only to find out that he is as regal and precious, as royal and special than any blueblood. Great things come in small packages, and never is that more true than in Teddy Edward Bear’s case.

In the case of Dave Patrick Merrick, great men come once in a lifetime.

Happy Birthday Dave. I love you.

Noah

Teddy Bear

By AA Milne

A bear, however hard he tries,
Grows tubby without exercise.
Our Teddy Bear is short and fat,
Which is not to be wondered at;
He gets what exercise he can
By falling off the ottoman,
But generally seems to lack
The energy to clamber back.

Now tubbiness is just the thing
Which gets a fellow wondering;
And Teddy worried lots about
The fact that he was rather stout.
He thought: "If only I were thin!
But how does anyone begin?"
He thought: "It really isn't fair
To grudge me exercise and air."

For many weeks he pressed in vain
His nose against the window-pane,
And envied those who walked about
Reducing their unwanted stout.
None of the people he could see
"Is quite" (he said) "as fat as me!"
Then with a still more moving sigh,
"I mean" (he said) "as fat as I!"

Now Teddy, as was only right,
Slept in the ottoman at night,
And with him crowded in as well
More animals than I can tell;
Not only these, but books and things,
Such as a kind relation brings -
Old tales of "Once upon a time",
And history retold in rhyme.

One night it happened that he took
A peep at an old picture-book,
Wherein he came across by chance
The picture of a King of France
(A stoutish man) and, down below,
These words: "King Louis So and So,
Nicknamed 'The Handsome!' " There he sat,
And (think of it) the man was fat!

Our bear rejoiced like anything
To read about this famous King,
Nicknamed the "Handsome." Not a doubt
The man was definitely stout.
Why then, a bear (for all his tub)
Might yet be named "The Handsome Cub!"

"Might yet be named." Or did he mean
That years ago he "might have been"?
For now he felt a slight misgiving:
"Is Louis So and So still living?
Fashions in beauty have a way
Of altering from day to day.
Is 'Handsome Louis' with us yet?
Unfortunately I forget."

Next morning (nose to window-pane)
The doubt occurred to him again.
One question hammered in his head:
"Is he alive or is he dead?"
Thus, nose to pane, he pondered; but
The lattice window, loosely shut,
Swung open. With one startled "Oh!"
Our Teddy disappeared below.

There happened to be passing by
A plump man with a twinkling eye,
Who, seeing Teddy in the street,
Raised him politely on his feet,
And murmured kindly in his ear
Soft words of comfort and of cheer:
"Well, well!" "Allow me!" "Not at all."
"Tut-tut!" A very nasty fall."

Our Teddy answered not a word;
It's doubtful if he even heard.
Our bear could only look and look:
The stout man in the picture-book!
That "handsome" King - could this be he,
This man of adiposity?
"Impossible," he thought. "But still,
No harm in asking. Yes, I will!"

"Are you," he said, "by any chance
His Majesty the King of France?"
The other answered, "I am that,"
Bowed stiffly, and removed his hat;
Then said, "Excuse me," with an air
"But is it Mr. Edward Bear?"
And Teddy, bending very low,
Replied politely, "Even so!"

They stood beneath the window there,
The King and Mr. Edward Bear,
And, handsome, if a trifle fat,
Talked carelessly of this and that ...
Then said His Majesty, "Well, well,
I must get on," and rang the bell.
"Your bear, I think," he smiled. "Good-day!"
And turned, and went upon his way.

A bear, however hard he tries,
Grows tubby without exercise.
Our Teddy Bear is short and fat,
Which is not to be wondered at.
But do you think it worries him
To know that he is far from slim?
No, just the other way about -
He's proud of being short and stout.

n  AA Milne