How the Light Gets In

The Teddies were more subdued than usual, despite the bright, sunny day. They’d felt as though they’d lost one of their own ever since Teddy Kennedy passed away. That had been a few days ago, and their initial sadness had transformed over the days into a more contemplative mood, especially among the older Teds, regarding life and loss and the goodness of hugs and kisses.  

Even the younger ones, picking up on the more thoughtful demeanor of their elders, were more quiet than usual. Except for Itsy. Someone had made the mistake of telling her that some people commemorate a great person’s life by shooting guns off into the air. Itsy had decided to do some of her own commemorating by firing her toy cannon into the woods. “Ka-WHOOMPF! Ka-WHOOMPF!” Most of the other little ones, however, sat or lay on the picnic blanket, napping or listening to Shoshonna and Letta tell them fairy tales while they ate strawberry shortcake.  

Birnie and Biwi had flown off early in the morning, heading for the heart of Africa, where they were to drop Tweed off for his latest adventure among the pygmies. Then they were flying off on another secret bombing mission. As usual, however, they would be back by dinnertime. They never missed one of their Mommola’s dinners.

Mr. Fluffy, Kippy, and Sassafras sat at the table under the umbrella on the deck and discussed the week’s events. A dark brown bear of medium size who, unlike most of the other Teds, tends to prefer to walk on all fours, Sassafras is our Teddy psychologicalist and counselor. She had made the rounds among the Teds these past few days soothing troubled spirits and encouraging hope and joy in what tomorrow brings. Not until today did she find the time to sit and contemplate the implications of the passing of another great human bean named Teddy. Mr. Fluffy, with Kippy always at his side, had assisted Sassafras in comforting the rest of the Teds over the past few days. Now the three of them sat and talked quietly among themselves, trying to find meaning in all that had occurred this sad but memorable week.

“Well, that was exhausting,” Kippy remarked. “I don’t know how you two do it, tending to the needs of so many distraught Teds.”

“Oh, it wasn’t all that bad,” Sassafras assured him. “Not that it wasn’t tiring,” she said, managing a thin smile. “But at least Teds generally don’t have the kinds of severe emotional problems that human beans do.”

“Thank heaven,” said Mr. Fluffy fervently, sipping from his tea cup.

“Yes, I’ve noticed how much more even-tempered Teddies tend to act than do human beans,” Kippy observed. “They don’t seem to get depressed as much for one thing.”

“Teds don’t usually get depressed,” Sassafras informed him quietly. “They get compressed sometimes but rarely depressed.”  

“And then it just takes a little petting and patting to get them back into shape once again,” Mr. Fluffy added.

“I wonder why there is such a difference between Teddies and human beans in that regard,” Kippy wondered aloud.

“Well,” said Sassafras, “we Transfurians would say it’s because the basic needs of Teddies are more likely to be met than are those of human beans.”

“Transfurians? What’s that?” asked Kippy, the linguist, always eager to learn a new word.

“That’s the kind of Teddy psychologicalist I am,” Sassafras told him. “Transfurians believe there is more to a Ted’s emotional well-being than just the state of his or her fur and stuffing. Thus, trans, meaning beyond, fur. Transfurians. Beyond the fur.”

“Ah,” said Kippy, appreciatively.  

“Teddy Bears are usually provided with all of the food, shelter, hugs, and kisses that they need, thanks to their human beans,” Sassafras explained further.

“So they’re free to explore the higher realms of love and spirit?” asked Mr. Fluffy.

“Yes, exactly,” Sassafras confirmed. “Human beans, on the other hand, often have a more difficult time of it.”

“Some spend all their life just trying to secure food and shelter for themselves and their loved ones,” Mr. Fluffy observed.  

“Leaving them little time to consider higher things,” Sassafras concluded.

“This sounds a lot like that theory of a hierarchy of needs that the human psychologist Abraham Maslow got from his Teddy Bear Zippy,” Kippy said.

“Exactly,” Sassafras agreed. “Zippy knew what she was talking about. At least, that’s what we Transfurians believe.”

“Refresh me a little on what this hierarchy of needs is all about,” requested Kippy.

“It’s usually illustrated by a pyramid of five levels,” Sassafras explained, “with the highest level representing a person’s highest aspirations, while the lowest represents the most basic needs. The lowest levels of needs must be met before a person can move on to trying to satisfy the higher levels of needs.”

She took a bite of strawberry shortcake, followed by a sip of tea, then continued, “The lowest level represents needs of the body, like eating, breathing, sleeping, and shelter. Only once those needs are met can a person go on to try to meet the needs of the next level, which all relate to the need for safety, security, and good health.

“Once those needs are met, a person can strive to meet the needs of the third level, which have to do with friendship and love. After meeting those, the need for self-esteem, which is the fourth level, becomes important.

“Only after all of the needs of the first four levels are met can a person seek what he or she needs most, which is to become what he or she was born to be, to attain their full potential. Zippy and Maslow called that the need for self-actualization. I think of it as the need to be who you are and to become who you are meant to be,” Sassafras concluded.

“Be true to your Self,” Mr. Fluffy observed. “It’s a kind of yoga or spiritual practice. Taoist’s call it practicing Sincerity.”

“Yes,” Sassafras agreed. “Transfurians call it living with authenticity.”

“Fascinating,” said Kippy.  

“Indeed. As it happens, this all fits very nicely with the reading I got today when I consulted The Teddy Bear I Ching,” Mr. Fluffy told the other two. 

“What was your question?” Kippy asked, curling his paws around his cup of strawberry honey tea.

“I asked what makes a person great,” Mr. Fluffy said. “The reading I got was quite intriguing and to the point.”

“As usual,” Sassafras noted, smiling quietly at Mr. Fluffy and Kippy. Even though Benjamin was given credit as author of The Teddy Bear I Ching, Kippy had done most of the original translation work, and Mr. Fluffy had provided invaluable consultation every step of the way.

From the edge of the woods, Itsy’s cannon sounded, “Ka-WHOOMPF!”

Everyone at the table smiled at that.

“So how did it answer your question?” Kippy asked Mr. Fluffy.

“It sounded a lot like everything we’ve been discussing, actually. In regards to what makes a person great, I threw hexagram 14 changing to hexagram 9, that is, ‘Treasure’ changing to ‘Details, Details.’” Opening up a copy of The Teddy Bear I Ching, Mr. Fluffy read, “The Main Point for ‘Treasure’ is ‘A clear mind, strength of purpose, and a sweet heart: these are priceless treasures.’”

“Well, that certainly answers your question loud and clear,” Sassafras commented.

“Yes, and then some,” Kippy agreed. “What’s the Main Point for ‘Details, Details’?”

Leafing back through the book, Mr. Fluffy stopped when he found his place and read, “‘Each step counts. There are no shortcuts. Take a deep breath and count to 10. Remember to look both ways before crossing the street.’”

“Now, that’s interesting,” Sassafras said, gazing into her tea cup thoughtfully.

“Why’s that?” asked Kippy.

“Well, I think we can agree that the Main Point for the first hexagram, ‘Treasure,’ clearly describes characteristics you would expect of a great person.”

“Sure,” Kippy and Mr. Fluffy agreed in unison, then looked over at each other and smiled at the coincidence.

“But the Main Point for ‘Details, Details’ suggests there’s more to it than just having a clear mind, strength of purpose, and a sweet heart,” she continued. “You also need to pay attention to details and follow through on each necessary step in what you do without taking any shortcuts. Now that takes patience and an appreciation not only of the large view but of the small as well.”

“Taken together I think the Main Points of the two hexagrams might relate to the necessity of making practical use of one’s highest ideals,” Mr. Fluffy suggested. “That’s not always the easiest thing to do.”

“What were the readings for the changing lines?” Kippy asked Mr. Fluffy.

“Let’s see,” Mr. Fluffy said, leafing through the book again. “They were 9 in the fourth and 6 in the fifth. The fourth line of ‘Treasure’ reads, ‘Time to be a little more discriminating. Consider your position. No need to get lost in the crowd. But don’t be a showoff, either.’ And the fifth line reads, ‘Give, but don’t get taken.’”

“Hmmm, those are in general agreement with what we’ve been saying, I think,” Kippy observed. The other two nodded their heads in agreement. “So how do the lines read in ‘Details, Details’?”

Turning back to that hexagram, Mr. Fluffy said, “The fifth line says, ‘Small truths become big truths, and small lies become big lies. Only the truth gains confidence and removes all obstacles to success.’”

“That sounds like another way of describing living with authenticity,” said Sassafras.

“And Sincerity,” said Mr. Fluffy.

“And the fifth line of ‘Details, Details’?” prompted Kippy.

“‘Loyal and true – that’s what a best friend means to you,’” read Mr. Fluffy.

The three of them were silent for a few moments as they considered the implications of Mr. Fluffy’s reading from the The Teddy Bear I Ching, especially in the light of the week’s events. A cloud covered the sun for a moment. A hawk flew by overhead, crying urgently into the late afternoon sky. “Ka-WHOOMPF!” went Itsy’s cannon.

Finally breaking the silence, Mr. Fluffy asked quietly, “We’ve been talking about Teddy Kennedy, haven’t we?”

“Pretty much, I guess,” said Kippy. “He was certainly a great man. Although, he did have his flaws.”

“What human bean doesn’t?” asked Sassafras. “That’s what it means to be human, I sometimes think.”

“I don’t think their flaws necessarily diminish their accomplishments,” offered Mr. Fluffy. “Often, their accomplishments seem all the greater because of their flaws.”

Silence enveloped the table once again. Until Sassafras ventured a quote from Leonard Cohen’s song, “Anthem.” “‘There’s a crack, a crack in everything….’”

“‘That’s how the light gets in,’” Kippy finished the quote.

“Yes,” agreed Mr. Fluffy, “that’s how the light gets in.”

“Ka-WHOOMPF!” sounded Itsy’s cannon, as the rays of the sun burst forth once again and the hawk wheeled round overhead, crying and crying into the blazing light.

Such is the Way

After Tweed, Birnie, Biwi, Mack, and Paddington brought the honeybees to their brand new beehive, Tweed sprayed them with a sugar-water solution. Once the bees were bloated on the sugar water and feeling very happy and sleepy, the Teds gathered around a cozy, little campfire, where the older Teds taught the youngsters how to roast miniature marshmallows. 

When everyone was munching contentedly on a roasted marshmallow, the older Teds started telling ghost stories. Tweed started off with a scary tale of the ghosts of horned toads that haunted the Amazon. “They are toads who just keep on croaking even after they’ve croaked,” he said at the end of his story. All of the older Teds groaned at that one, as the younger ones stole glances over their shoulders while scrunching a little closer to each other every time a cricket sounded.

Letta told a story of two star-crossed lovers who only found true happiness after they turned into ghosts. “Aaahhh,” the younger Teds sighed at the end of her story, and they all smiled a little more freely as they slowly turned more marshmallows over the fire.

Then Birnie asked, in a low, conspiratorial voice, “How many of you know that we have our own ghost right here in our own back yard?”

“We do?” asked Itsy, hopping up and looking excitedly all around.

“Watch it, Itsy!” Benjamin shouted, ducking away from the flaming marshmallow Itsy was brandishing erratically as she hopefully searched the woods for the ghost.

“Sit down and eat your marshmallow, Itsy, sweetie,” Shoshonna urged her. “If you don’t, it could fall off into the dirt.”

“Or burn a hole in somebody’s fur,” Benjamin interjected.

“Benjamin!” Letta admonished him. “Leave her be, please.”

“Well! She’s a danger to others,” Benjamin insisted.

“His ghost isn’t out there just yet, Itsy,” Birnie informed her. “He doesn’t usually come out until much later. So you might as well sit down, eat your marshmallow, and listen to the story of how he got to be a ghost.”

“Oh,” said Itsy, disappointedly. “Okay.” She sat back down and poked her already blackened marshmallow back into the flames. Turning to Lily-pop who was sitting next to her, she said, “Be careful with your mashmellow, Lily-pop. You might poke somebody with it, and smear it all over them. Then you couldn’t eat it anymore.”

“Oh,” said Lily-pop quietly, turning the marshmallow at the end of her stick very carefully. “Okay.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Benjamin muttered before turning back to Brighton who was feeding him melted pieces of marshmallow from her stick.

“His name was Billingham,” Birnie told them, resuming his story. “He was a squirrel. He lived right up there,” everyone looked over to the woods where he was pointing, “in a hole at the top of that big, triple oak growing on the edge of our woods.” Their heads bent back, back, back as they tried to see up to the top of the big old tree.

“Billingham was a deep sleeper, kind of like Bentley, except he woke up more often, especially in the summer. He didn’t like waking up all that much, though. He much preferred to sleep, especially in winter when squirrels hibernate just like bears do. He loved to sleep the winter away.

“He slept a lot in summer, too. So much that he buried fewer acorns for himself in preparation for the winter months than other squirrels did. During winter, the only time he woke up was when he got hungry, and even then he had to be really starving to rouse himself. He had such a hard time getting up in the winter that even when he did he never really woke all the way up. Most of the time he barely even got to half awake.

“So it was that when he woke up in the deep of winter the night of the big ice storm that he wasn’t quite all there, so to speak. Crawling out of the hole from his nice comfy nest, he couldn’t really tell if he was awake or dreaming. It didn’t help any that once he poked his nose out into the bone-chilling night the whole world seemed to have changed. Everything around him looked like it was covered with a thick coat of glass that sparkled in the moonlight. Only it wasn’t glass; it was ice. But Billingham didn’t know that, and being more asleep than awake, he never really figured it out.

“The weird glass-coated world stopped Billingham in his tracks, but just for a second. He quickly put it out of his mind because his only reason for being half-awake in the first place was to dig up some food and get back to sleep as soon as possible. The longer he stood stock still in his doorway, the colder he was getting and the more sleep he was missing.

“So, whipping his bushy tail once in irritation and dismissal of any and all of the weirdness in the world around him, Billingham jumped out onto the branch right outside his doorway, intending to scoot down the trunk of the tree and scamper around to several of his secret hiding places to gather up enough acorns to tide him over for another couple of weeks of sleep. Unfortunately, the minute his paws hit the ice-covered branch, he slipped and fell. Fortunately, he was able to grab a tight hold around the branch with all four paws. Unfortunately, although holding on tightly to the branch, he ended up twirling around and around and around.

“The thick coating of ice on the branches sent Billingham corkscrewing down until he slid up against a clump of smaller branches, which brought him to an abrupt halt. That was the only thing that kept him from sliding right off the end. Unfortunately, the shaking Billigham had just given the branch, plus his added weight on the ice-covered tip proved to be just too much. With a sharp crack, that end of the branch snapped off and fell down through the air. Billingham fell right along with it. He fell really fast, and he fell a really looonnnggg way down. Until – bam! – he hit the ground, hard. So hard it knocked the wind out of him.”

“Oh, poor skirl,” Itsy said, absently munching on her third-degree burnt marshmallow. 

“Poor skirl,” repeated Lily-pop, who was daintily picking pieces off of her marshmallow and putting them in her mouth.

“Yes, poor Billingham,” agreed Birnie, continuing his story.

“When he came to a long while later, he couldn’t remember at first exactly where he was or what had happened to him. But, he still felt hungry, very, very hungry. At least he found himself on the ground. Granted, it was cold, ice-covered ground. But he was on the ground. So he scampered off as best he could on the ice in the direction he thought the nearest hiding place was for one of his acorns.

“Slipping and sliding, it took forever for him to make any headway, but he finally made it to his secret hiding place. After taking a second to catch his breath, he then bent over and made ready to scratch his way down to his hidden acorn. Imagine his surprise when his paw went right straight through the ice and the dirt – without making a dent in either one! He was shocked! Plus, he was starving. He took another swipe at digging down to the delicious acorn he knew was waiting for him, with the same unbelievable result – his paw went straight through the ice and into the earth without making any hole at all!”

All of the younger Teds said, “Oooooo!” all at the same time and leaned in closer to the fire. All eyes were on Birnie.

“Nobody knows how long it took Billingham to wake up to the fact that he was a ghost. It was quite a shock once he finally realized it, of course. Especially since being a ghost didn’t keep him from still being very, very hungry. But as a ghost he couldn’t find anything he could eat. Even when he found an acorn lying on the ground, he couldn’t eat it because ghosts can’t eat anything, you know.”

Again all the younger Teds said, “Oooo!” – but this time they said it with more sympathy than fear. Teds know the meaning of hunger, or, rather, the intense pleasure of eating. So their sympathy for Billingham’s unrequited hunger was palpable.

“Well, at least he could sleep. Each day at the break of dawn he floats back up to his nest way high up in that old, oak tree and sleeps and sleeps the day away. But, every night, he wakes up feeling famished and floats back down to the ground to search for something, anything, to satisfy his ravenous hunger.”

“Ooooh!” everyone said, and they all turned in unison to search the shadows of the woods, to see if Billingham the squirrel’s ghost was roaming in the shadows in there looking for something to eat.

“So you want to be careful if you go out in the woods at night,” Birnie finished up. “You never know if you’ll run into Billingham’s ghost or not. But if you do, don’t mention anything about acorns. He doesn’t take kindly to that kind of thing.”

Suddenly, a rustling of leaves was heard from the woods, and someone yelled out, “Wait! What’s that?” It sounded like Biwi’s voice to me.

With that yell, all the younger Teds yelped out a mass, “Yaaahhhhh!” and suddenly there was a stampede from the campfire, up over the deck, in through the doorway – where they would have put a hole in the screen door if I hadn’t held it open for them – and on into the house, where Thea and I were getting ready for bed.

With dozens of little, whimpering Teds hugging our ankles and legs, Thea, doing her best not to smile too much, looked down and said, “We thought you were camping out tonight!”

Several of them moaned, “Nooo!!!” Itsy, dancing from one paw to another while simultaneously holding onto Lily-pop’s paw and waving her stick with its bits of burnt marshmallow at the end of it in her other paw, explained, all in a rush, “Bildinghan the ghostes skirl is out there! He slides on the trees in the sky and on the ground in the woods looking for somefing to eat, but he can’t eat it ‘cause he’s a ghostes! Birnie said!”

The sounds of the older Teds laughing and talking drifted in from the campfire, along with the unmistakable sound of a canner of Mason’s root beer being popped open.  

“Okay,” I said to the little ones still clutching Thea and me as tightly as they could, “who’s got wet feet?” Wet feet are the inevitable outcome of Teddy fright. When they get scared, their poor little kidneys just let loose, leading to wet feet.

Paws shot up all around. “Well, then,” said Thea, gently, reaching for the paper towels, “let’s get everybody all cleaned up and nice and fresh, shall we?”

“And once that’s done,” I told them, “we can all settle down for a story about Pooh.”

“Yaayyy!” everyone cheered. Then, as Thea and I washed and wiped their paws, they started requesting their favorite stories.

“Tell us the one about Tigger climbing the tree!”

“No, the one about Eeyore’s birfday!” requested Itsy.

“The one where Pooh finds the North Pole!”

In the end, we all climbed into bed, and I read all of their requests until everyone but Itsy fell asleep. Itsy rarely sleeps. Outside the older Teds were still telling stories and chuckling amongst themselves, though they kept their voices lower now.

I thought for a moment about the ghost of poor Billingham the squirrel searching fruitlessly in the woods for some acorns to eat. Then the bright, clarion laughter of Biwi, our very own resident Body Softa, rang out clearly in the night, and, looking over at Thea asleep on her pillow, I smiled to myself. Mr. Fluffy saying, as he often did, “Such is the way it is,” sounded softly in my head. Such, indeed, is the way.

Home Is Where the Honey Is

After the overnight rain, Mack and Paddington had strolled out in the early morning mist together, one of their favorite activities. Mid-morning sun shone forth brightly now, and Mack was up back on the deck working on his merits and demerits book. It is his considered opinion that everyone needs to be kept in line and that his method of apportioning stars and black marks provides the most effective means of accomplishing this. A huge honey bear, towering over the other Teds, Mack is a Virgo and thus a natural critic.

Paddington decided to join most of the rest of the Teds who are helping their “Mommola,” my beloved Thea, and me as we plant more flowers in our garden. Birnie and Biwi had just flown Tweed, our adventurer honey bear, back home from his latest explorations of the Amazon. Lately he’s been spending most of his time exploring the ins and outs of that fascinating river as it winds its way through the dark heart of South America. He brought back over a dozen varieties of bananas that he’d picked up in Ecuador. There were enough for everyone, but they were a particular treat for Bunkie, who has a special love for bananas. Bunkie is a little brown bear who claims she is the world’s only brown Panda bear. The Pandas all back her up in this claim, so who are we to argue?

Thea has organized today’s flower planting party partly in response to Tweed’s latest ecological campaign. Beekeepers and Teddies all over the country have noticed over the past few years that honeybees are disappearing at an alarming rate. Nobody knows what is happening to them. There don’t seem to be any dead bodies lying around or anything. They just up and disappear, leaving only their larvae and maybe the Queen behind. Unfortunately, the Queen can’t survive without the food the worker bees bring her. Needless to say, this has Teddy bears greatly worried. How could they survive without their honey? After all, home is where the honey is. Tweed, a world-renowned ecologist, is particularly concerned. “It isn’t just the honey supply that is affected,” he informed us. “A good deal of the world’s fruits and vegetables depend upon bees to pollinate them, too, you know.”

“Tweed has suggested several ways for us to encourage honeybees to stay around and help us feed all of the plants,” Kippy told Thea and me, while planting another Buttercup.

“For one thing, we shouldn’t have just one or two kinds of flowers,” Brighton added. “Bees like lots of different flowers. So it’s best if we plant at least 10 different kinds.”

“An’ don’t use pes’asides,” Itsy chimed in, as she dug energetically in the soil at Thea’s knees. Whatever her Mommola does she has to do, too. In spades.

“Pesticides,” Benjamin just had to correct her. “Pesticides.”

“Yetz, that, too,” Itsy agreed, throwing soil every which way with her little shovel.

“OoOh!” Benjamin huffed. But, with a great show of effort, he turned back to planting a Sunflower with his Brighton.  

Just then a lone honeybee came buzzing into the yard. He zipped over to where Gracie hovered over the flowers, stopping right in front of her snout to look her in the eyes. Gracie looked right back at him, smiling beatifically, until, apparently satisfied, he flew out into the yard and began visiting our many yellow dandelions and purple clovers. Benjamin looked back over his shoulder at me, and with a goofy grin on his face, informed me snidely, “Tweed also said we shouldn’t weed so much. Bees like weeds like dandelions and clover a lot, too!”

“Ahh, good to know,” I replied.

“Don’t get any ideas, dear,” Thea warned me.

“Wouldn’t think of it, sweetheart,” I assured her. “Although, we do want to do our bit to encourage the return of the honeybees.”

“Let’s just see how well we can manage without the weeds, shall we?” she suggested.

“Itsy!” Benjamin squeaked in irritation. “Stop throwing your dirt into our hole!”

“Sorry, Benjamin and Brighton!” Itsy apologized and redirected her dirt throwing elsewhere.

“Okay, we’re done for today, anyway,” Thea announced, standing up and brushing the dirt off of the knees of her jeans. “We’ve planted all of our flowers. Tomorrow we’ll plant some zucchinis and pumpkins. Now, I’ll just go get my honeybee attractor spray,” she said spritely, walking off to the deck to get her spray bottle.

Meanwhile, the Teds were gathering around Tweed, Birnie, and Biwi, waiting eagerly to get outfitted with their very own beekeeping hood, complete with netting to be pulled down over their faces.

I began to ask what they were preparing for now, when Itsy ran over to her Mommola and, jumping excitedly up and down, exclaimed, “We’re goin’ on a hexpaditchun!”

“You are?” Thea asked, smiling down at her little “bestest” pal. “What kind of expedition?”

“A hexpaditchun to find some bees and bring ‘em back for a new beehive for us!” Itsy explained. “Tweed said,” she added for emphasis.

“That sounds dangerous,” Thea said, furrowing her eyebrows slightly and looking over at Tweed.

“Not really,” Tweed assured her. “We’re just going to place a trap with some Queen scent in it to lure in a swarm. Then we’ll all come back here and set up our new hive while we wait for them to arrive. Birnie, Biwi, and I will go back later with Mack and Paddington and bring the swarm back to its new hive. All of this,” he motioned to the Teds busily settling their beekeeping hoods on their heads, “is just a fun bit of dress-up for everybody, to get them into the spirit of the thing.”

After making sure everyone was suited up properly and each one had a canteen of cold, honeyed water and a banana, the full embrace of Teds trooped off into the woods, singing raucously and raggedly, “If you go out in the woods tonight you’re sure of a big surprise….”

Back at the garden, Thea started spraying her homemade honeybee lure on the flowers and other plants. “I made this myself from a recipe Tweed gave me,” she told me. “You just fill a mason jar with half a quart of warm water, add 1/8 a teaspoon of lecithin, 7 drops of lemon grass oil, 7 drops of spearmint, and two cups of sugar. Spray it on your plants and watch the honeybees come!”

By the time the Teds came trudging back later in the afternoon, noisy and excited, clamoring for cold, iced strawberry tea with honey, the honeybees were already beginning to swarm around the flowers in the garden. Not a few of them were busily flying from dandelion to clover before moving on to the lavender bushes and cletheras. Two buzzed inquisitively over Bentley as he snoozed the day away, lying in the middle of the yard wrapped in his blanky.

Itsy ran up to Thea and exclaimed, “Tweed showed us how to trap honeybees, so we could bring them to a new home! Tweed’s a good boy!”

“Yes, he is,” Thea agreed, smiling down at Itsy, who was hopping up and down, her beekeeper’s hood flopping around on her little head, with her own bonnet all twisted up underneath it. “All of our boys are good boys,” she added.

“Well,…,” Itsy hesitated at that generalization, “sometimes. I guess. Maybe.” Then, by way of changing the subject, she asked, “Did Bentley waked up while we were gone?”

“Not that I noticed,” said Thea, looking over at said Ted, snoring away contentedly in the fading afternoon sun.

Itsy ran over to his snoozing body, stopping at his head, where she stretched up on tiptoe, the better to get her snout closer to one of his ears, and shouted as loud as she could, “You ‘wake, Bentley!?!”

With her shout, all of the bees in the yard flew back away from where she stood next to Bentley, like waves in a pond after a huge stone has been thrown into its middle, leaving a rather large circle clear of bees around the two of them.

“Itsy!” admonished Thea. 

“What?” asked Itsy, looking back at her Mommola.

“Please don’t yell in Bentley’s ear, sweetheart. You’ll wake him,” Thea explained.

“It’s okay, Mommola,” Itsy assured her, turning away from the big guy. “Bentley’s asleep.”

“Here’s hoping we don’t get hit with an earthquake any time soon,” observed Benjamin sardonically. “The earth could open up and swallow him, and Bentley would just keep on sleeping.”

“Please don’t pick on Bentley, Benjamin,” Thea told him gently. “He’s not bothering anyone, and he has a right to hibernate if he wants to.”

“I was just saying,” muttered Benjamin.

“Don’t be a silly bear, Benjamin,” Itsy scolded him. “Only girls can dus’ say, not boys.”

“OoOh!” he responded testily, as Brighton pulled him closer, cuddled him, and soothed his troubled soul. Yes, Teddies have souls, and, yes, they can be troubled. Just ask Mr. Fluffy and Kippy sometime.

“Be nice to each other, the two of you,” I told them.

“You didn’t say please, Dad,” Itsy corrected me.

“Just do it,” I ordered, lowering my voice and intentionally omitting the please.

“Okay!” Itsy responded chipperly.  

“Yes, Dad,” Benjamin mumbled, reluctantly.

Meanwhile, the honeybees had slowly regrouped and returned to their smelling of the flowers. An intrepid few even had the temerity to fly over and investigate the source of the former explosive sound. As they buzzed around her, Itsy giggled and laughed. “When honeybees talk, it tickles!” she exclaimed, falling backward onto the ground.

Meanwhile, Tweed was supervising the bigger Teds as they assembled the new hive, the bees buzzed, Itsy giggled and rolled around, and Mack busily apportioned stars and black marks aplenty in his book. Thea smiled on all she surveyed, and all was right with the world once more.