Thankful Thought | 002

Have I ever posted a picture of this little guy*?

Actually, it’s a girl.  I don’t know why “little guy” just seems to suit it better.

She has no name, either.  I really should get around to naming her.  She seems old-fashioned to me.  And comforting.  And important.

I think Mabel.

Yes, Mabel.  It suits her, I feel.

I don’t pick her up and hug her much.  Something’s wrong with her stuffing.  I was supposed to use regular stuffing, but I made her urgently and with nearly no advanced notice, and the only stuffing I had at home was quilt batting, which I dutifully shredded, attempting to fluff as much as possible and jamming it into her cozy felt body.

Note: quilt batting, designed to be a flat sheet inside the guts of a quilt, does not fluff well.

I had full intentions of purchasing the proper stuffing after Christmas and giving her new innards, but instead she sits here – in our living room at our reading table, the table at which we don’t actually read but I like to pretend we do – and her big eyes watch our lazy, hectic, contented, loving, chaotic, blessed lives.

For Christmas, we made a stocking for Mara.  Unsure of what to put into it, I finally settled on a stocking of (mostly) family things. There was a movie to watch together, a book to read together, and several other things for us all to enjoy.  Capping off the top of the stocking was Mabel, her big eyes and ears peeking out over the top of the cuff on Christmas morning.

I would rather have filled a stocking to the brim with nuks and rattles and petite onesies and bitty socks, but instead of experiencing we remembered, and it was precious in its own gentle way.

Mabel makes me thankful for precious memories – memories of all types and from all decades and of all varieties, even the ones that started out painful but grew into something cherished and sacred.  Mabel makes me thankful that what I remember in my mind lives on in my heart, the way the glow still exists when you stare at a bright light and then abruptly close your eyes.  Mabel makes me feel warm and comforted when I look at her, even if I’m not remembering anything specific.  Because when I look at her I know I can remember, and I can do it anytime I want.  Mabel reminds me to write, the avenue by which I most prefer to capture my memories, tucking them into the deep recesses of my mind as enduring treasure.

I like Mabel. I’m glad she joins our family in our living room.

* Inspired by the work of aprilfoss on etsy, who makes positively delectable creations.

{Besides the obvious old-fashioned tone, does anyone know why I picked Mabel?}