My mother was a big craft person (her skills did NOT rub off on me). She crocheted for me a soft, fuzzy blankie that I carried with me everywhere I went. I used to, like Linus in Peanuts, carry that thing in one hand, dragging behind me (and getting filthy) and sucking my thumb with the other hand.

I know that I'd cry if my Binkie got lost (misplaced) or even when my mother had to wash it (which was often).

I couldn't sleep without it.

Once we went on a trip and we forgot to put it in the car among the hub-bub. The family story goes that I ruined the entire trip because all I did was cry for my Binkie. You can bet that it was never forgotten again (nor was the story!)

I am honestly not even sure what happened to it. I suspect it disintegrated after so much use and wear and tear and washings. I grew up and eventually stopped sucking my thumb and carrying it around. I wonder where it went though. Like many people, I have this tendency to inflict human emotions and substance onto THINGS that I care about. To me my Binkie was an extension of me, and therefore very special.

I've done this too with my piano, a bicycle, and my old childhood desk. When I give up these items, I feel as though they're sad, waiting for me to return and give them childhood joy again.

I asked my mother where my Binkie ever went, and she evaded the question. I did not press. But I do get all sad if I think of Binkie being stuffed in an old, musty box in the corner of the attic with spiders and rats. I think of it sad, missing me, and wondering what it did wrong.

yeah I probably need some help.....


***tribute to My Binkie***