When last we saw our Heroine, your semi-phenominal, nearly functional and infinitely humble Blogger, she was headed into the house, dubbed “Inside” by the potted vegetables, to retrieve a very special toy named, “Scribbles.” A great undertaking was about to begin…the naming of the Garlic sprouts. Help with this endeavor was not expected from the garlics, as they were known to simply sit among themselves and hummmmmmmm…….
Here’s how it went.
When I went Inside I found Scribbles right where I left her…which is a really good thing when you dare to think about it… wearing her sweet, perpetual smile. She’s really a happy, mellow gal. She was born that way.
“Hey, Scribs! You ready to go play with the green guys, name some garlic plants?”
Did her smile get bigger? I wondered….
“You bet! I like hanging out with the green guys. They’re too cool. And Reggie is so classy!”
“That’s a perfect way to describe Reggie,” I said. “He’s just so…complete.”
Scribbles giggled, “He told me he went bald once.”
Remembering the worms, I had to laugh. “Yes, he did go bald! Parsley worms ate half of his dreads, so I picked them off, with the dreads they were chewing on, and put them somewhere else, then pruned Reggie right down to his stems.”
“Parsley worms? There are unique worms that eat parsley?”
“It seems so. I didn’t know, so I asked the Gods of Google, and found out that there are parsley worms that eventually become big swallow tail butterflies.”
“And…they eat parsley. Reggie must feel so special.”
“Well, apparently, they also like fennel and carrots, but I wasn’t growing them.”
“Wow. Were they scary looking?”
“No, believe it or not. I sure didn’t want them chewing on my parsley, but they were really pretty. They had beautiful bright green and dark green stripes. I wasn’t squishing them, because they looked pretty meaty, and I wasn’t dealing with squished worm guts all over the place. When I found out they were butterflies in waiting, I was doubly glad I didn’t make worm splat.”
“Right. Eeuw. I picked them off and put them aside, then found out after that they would be big butterflies some day. Of course, having the worms chewing on Reggie’s dreads just lent further credence to my ‘butterflies-will-eat-your-braimz’ phobia, but that’s another story.”
“Butterflies eat human brains?!?!?!?” Scribbles exclaimed, totally aghast. I swear, if her eyes weren’t firmly-attached plastic, they would have bugged right out of her head.
“No! Butterflies are completely harmless, helpful insects that pollinate plants. I just…have a thing.”
Scribbles just looked at me for a few seconds. I remember thinking, I’m glad I didn’t give her eye brows.
“Bet you thought he was a goner,” she said.
“I did. I thought he was gone. I kept watering him, fertilizing him, and he started growing new dreads. Now look at him. He’s thick and lush, and has lived way past his time.”
“He said that. He really likes the fertilizer, by the way, says it gives him a total chlorophyll rush.”
“Oh, does it now? I seem to remember hearing that from other plants, another garden.”
“Yup. Must be something! Anyway, he said he should have gone with all the other older plants, but he feels great, and he’s loving taking care of the broccolis. He says the elixir keeps him green.”
“Well, he sure does take good care of those broccoli plants. Now he’s mentoring all that garlic, too.”
“You think so?” Scribbles asked. “I think those garlic plants pretty much keep to themselves.”
Pondering this for another couple of seconds, she added, “They’re harmless. But they are sure mysterious. They…hum.”
“Maybe you’re just used to Sprite’s outgoing ways?” I offered.
“Hmmm…” she answered. “Maybe. Or maybe the garlic is just weird.” Then she grinned her adorable Scribbles grin and added, “Let’s go play with the green guys!”
“Yes,” I said. “Let’s go play.”
The sudden shyness…the tentativeness…made me pause.
“What is it, Scribs?”
“I’m excited about going to live with my child.”
“That’s good! You’re supposed to be. But am I hearing some hesitation there?”
“No….,” she started. “I’m really excited to meet her.”
“But….do you think she’ll love me?”
“Oh, Scribbles,” I began. “From the moment I started stitching you, from that very first crochet stitch, to that finishing touch of this long red hair, I knew you would be something special.”
“Really? I remember seeing you that first time, seeing you smile.” She chuckled and added, “I was only just a head and I knew you loved me already. I just wonder sometimes if my child will, too.”
“You saw me smile when I put your eyes into your head, because you saw me fall in love. You sort of … blinked … and smiled up at me with your eyes because you didn’t even have a mouth yet. I knew, right then, what a unique treasure you are.”
” Oooo, tell me more!” she giggled.
“I’ll tell you every day,” I laughed.
I picked up the sweet little doll and hugged her, giving and taking comfort in equal measure, and remembering the magical feeling of seeing what would normally be benign crochet stitches and safety eyes become a companion, a friend… a toy…stitched with the positive energy of possibility, and stuffed with love.
“I saw your soul shine through your eyes the very moment I put them in your head. I felt it in my hands. It guided my needle when I stitched your face, and guided my hook when I stitched your fingers and feet. You weren’t completed with the last stitch, like a sweater. You were born with that very first stitch, a complete personality waiting for a body, and your spirit guided me through all of the stitches that came after that. Seeing that spirit shine through your eyes that first time was so exciting, it almost took my breath away. “
“You are such a joy,” I added, stroking long, soft yarn hair and touching tiny yarn fingers. “Your child will love you as much as I do, because it just isn’t possible not to.”
“Awwwww,” she crooned. “Thanks! Let’s go spoil the broccoli and name some weird garlics.”
So, now you know what it feels like for me, to be able to take bit of yarn, a bit of fluff, and see it transform into something that will comfort and entertain a child…a toy. Whether or not they express it in such mystical terms, I believe that all crocheters and knitters of toys feel this. Making toys is magic!
Next up…I’ll tell you how naming all those garlic sprouts went.
A very special toy….