Thea and I had been awakened shortly after dawn by a chorus of Itsy, Waldo, and Sparkie shouting, “Snow! Snow!” with a counterpoint little shout of “Thnow!” from Lily-pop. Meanwhile Biwi was belting out his very own song, “Wake up and live!” So, with little other choice, we woke up and lived.
The sky was indeed unloading a gawd-awful abundance of huge snowflakes on us. It felt as though we lived inside one of those little shake-and-flake snow globes.
After a breakfast of hot oatmeal and cocoa, everyone suited up in their warmest coats, hats, and mittens, and we went out into the blizzard. All except Bentley, that is, who remained indoors, snuggled warmly under his blankie, deep in hibernation.
In an attempt to siphon off some of the Teds’ excess energy, I first created a hill of snow that had different levels of slopes on each of its sides, varying from very gentle to extremely steep. The Teds boisterously began sledding and tobogganing down the hill even before I’d completed it. A daring few, with Birnie’s help, made skis out of popsicle sticks and skied down, shrieking with excitement all the while.
Of course, a series of snowball fights began as soon as the Teds hit the ground, although Thea gave strict instructions that no one could throw anything at the littlest ones. Itsy, however, showed Lily-pop, Waldo, and Sparkie how to take full advantage of their immunity by throwing snowballs at all of the bigger Teds. Happily, they couldn’t throw very hard or far, so even those few of their tiny snowballs that found a target did no damage. They enjoyed themselves immensely, nonetheless, not the least because they felt they were getting away with something.
Once I finished the snow hill, I began work on a large snowbear, with the help of Mack, Paddington, Kippy, Mr. Fluffy, Letta, Shoshonna, Birnie, Biwi, Brighton, and Benjamin. We first rolled up a big round ball of snow to serve as the base, then piled on two more big balls, in slightly decreasing sizes, one on top of the other. Mack, Paddington, and I next worked at forming two legs. Our snowbear sat comfortably on the ground and would eventually have his two arms stretched out to catch the snowflakes. Birnie and Biwi formed two ears and a snout, while the rest worked at packing snow in between the three big balls of snow. We would top it all off with two arms, a tail, and two black stones for eyes.
As I began attaching one of the snowbear’s arms with the help of Mack and Paddington, Itsy scrambled over and started bombarding us with her miniature snowballs. Letta took pity on us and came over to teach the little ones how to make snow angels. Itsy immediately threw herself into the production of seven or eight snow angels and just as quickly lost interest. Emerging from a mound of snow right at my feet, she looked up, with bonnet quite askew, and asked me, “Do you have a cannon, too, like me?”
Patting the snowbear’s arm into place at the shoulder, I answered, “No, I don’t. You’re the only one I know who has a cannon.”
“Oh,” she said. “Then what do you need to get ammo for?”
“Ammo?” I asked. “I don’t need any ammo.”
“Then why are you and Mommola gonna have a ammovursory?” she asked.
I interrupted my patting of the arm long enough to look down at her with, no doubt, a very puzzled look on my wind-reddened face. “We’re going to have a what?” I asked, blowing out a big funnel of steam from my mouth.
“A ammovursory,” she answered. “Letta said you and Mommola are gonna have a ammovursory pretty soon.”
Popping out from behind the snowbear’s other arm, Letta clarified, “She means anniversary. I told the little ones you and Mommola are going to celebrate your anniversary this month.”
“Yetz!” Itsy agreed. “That, too!”
“Ah, I see,” I said. Looking down at Itsy, I explained, “Mommola and I are going to celebrate our wedding anniversary in a few days. Every year we celebrate the day we got married and swore to love and cherish each other forever afterwards.”
“You sweared at each other?!” she exclaimed.
Chuckling, I assured her, “No we didn’t swear at each other. We never swear at each other. Only other people.”
“Oh,” she said. “But you said….”
“Yes, I know, but what I meant to say was that we promised to love and cherish each other all the rest of our days.”
“So when we have the party are you going to swear again?” Waldo wanted to know.
“Um, not exactly,” I told him. “But we are going to take the opportunity to remind each other exactly how much we mean to each other.”
“Why do you have to be reminded?” Sparkie wondered. “Don’t you remember it already?”
“Oh, we never forget how much we love each other,” I assured him. “Our love for each other is always there at the back of our minds and deep in our hearts. But sometimes we get caught up in other things that we are doing and don’t think so much about how much we love each other.”
“You should remember more,” Lily-pop admonished me.
“You are so right, little one,” I told her, picking her up and giving her a quick kiss before setting her, giggling, back down on the ground again.
“I bet Mommola remembers,” Itsy said. “She’s a girl. Girls remember better.”
“You’re probably right,” I agreed.
“I am,” she said. “I’m a girl.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Benjamin huffed indignantly while working on the snowbear’s snout.
“Now, dear, she’s just a baby,” Brighton soothed him.
“I’m a big baby!” Itsy insisted.
“You can say that again,” Benjamin frumped.
“Okay,” Itsy rejoined. “I’m a big baby!”
“OoOH!” Benjamin grumped, but Brighton managed to gently direct his attention back to the construction of the snowbear’s snout.
“Can we come to the party, too?” Waldo wanted to know.
“Yeth, can we, pleathe?” trilled Lily-pop.
“Yeah, please, please, please!” Sparkie, Itsy, and Waldo chanted, jumping up and down in the snow with manic enthusiasm, with Lily-pop piping, “Pleathe!” in counterpoint.
“Of course!” I said. “All of the Teds are invited.”
“Yay!” shouted every Ted in the backyard. “Par-dee!”
“We couldn’t celebrate properly without you,” I assured them.
“You couldn’t?” asked Itsy.
“Of course not,” I said. “Our anniversary is the day we remind each other of all of the special things we love about each other. And each and every one of you is part and parcel of some of the most important things we share with each other.”
“We are?” asked Lily-pop, amazement in her tiny voice.
“You most certainly are,” I told them.
“How do we do that?” Sparkie asked.
“Yeah, how?” Waldo also wanted to know.
“Well,” I began, while bending over to add more snow to our snowbear’s shoulder, “first off, you don’t live in the real world….”
“I should hope not!” Benjamin interjected. “I don’t believe in Realty! It sucks!”
“Yeah, it sucks!” echoed Waldo.
“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” I said, “but I know what you mean. Reality tends to be a place where everyone thinks about and interacts with material things. The things of reality don’t seem to have a life of their own. They’re thought of as just dead matter.”
“Ugh!” said Benjamin.
“Ick,” said Brighton.
“Poopie!” opined Itsy, who was immediately and gleefully echoed by her chorus of little ones, “Yeah, poopie! Poopie, poopie, poopie!”
“Yes, well, be that as it may,” I hastily spoke up. “It isn’t always fun living in the real world. And as everyone who knows anything knows, you have to get some fun out of life! Otherwise it just isn’t worth living.”
“You can’t live at all if you don’t have any fun,” agreed Benjamin.
“Well, some people try,” I informed him. “In fact, some people get to be really good at not having any fun.”
“That isn’t any fun,” observed Itsy indignantly.
“No, it isn’t,” I agreed. “And that’s where you Teds come in.”
“It is?” asked Waldo in amazement.
“Yes, it is,” I said. “As I said before, you don’t live in the real world. You live in the bright and beautiful world of imagination.”
“Sometimes it could get dark and cold, though,” said Sparkie, thoughtfully.
“Oh, sure,” I agreed. “Just because you live in the imaginary world doesn’t mean there can’t sometimes be pain and sorrow there. It isn’t all fun and happiness.”
“Oh,” said Lily-pop quietly, looking sad.
“But you always know the pain and sorrow, when they come, won’t stay long. They don’t last,” I told them.
“They don’t?” asked Sparkie.
“Why not?” asked Itsy.
“Because you can always imagine something else that’s bright and joyful,” I said. “Things like friends and laughter and making snow angels and drinking hot cocoa with the little white things in it on a cold, wintry day like today.”
“Yeah, it’s cold today, but we don’t care,” said Sparkie. “’Cause we’re having fun!”
“Exactly,” I said. “Because in our imaginary world everything is alive and always changing in new and fun ways. But in the real world there’s always the chance that you get so stuck in unhappy things that you start to think you can never get out of them.”
“But you can get out of them!” Itsy insisted.
“Yes, absolutely,” I agreed wholeheartedly, “You can get unstuck from your unhappiness by taking a chance and stepping into the imaginary world where you never know what’s around the next corner, and where there’s always the hope of a better tomorrow.”
“You can never get to tomorrow,” Itsy informed me. “Tomorrow never gets here. You can only get to today.”
“That is so true,” I said. “Nevertheless, things change. They change all the time. Things get better for a while, then they get worse, and then better again. But you can see that much more easily in the imaginary world.”
“But how do you know things will get better?” Benjamin wanted to know.
“Well, you never really know, in the sense that people in the real world mean when they say they know something,” I mused. “That is, you can’t make a timetable that will tell you exactly when things will get better. But you can know in the sense that you have faith that things will get better. But faith is something you can have only in the imaginary world. There isn’t much room for faith in the real world. It isn’t something you can touch and feel. Neither is hope or charity or any of the other virtues of a full life. Those are only available in the imaginary world. And that’s where Teddy Bears live.”
“Yetz!” Itsy enthused. “’Cause we’re the goodest!”
“You are indeed,” I agreed. “You’re playful and silly and full of fun and laughter and joy. You live in the moment and feel it to the fullest. Those are all reasons you are so important to Mommola and me. You keep the child in us alive.”
“Are you going to have a baby?” Itsy asked excitedly.
“No, not that kind of child,” I chuckled. “I mean the children we were when we were little ourselves.”
“Ha, ha, ha!” Itsy laughed. “You and Mommola couldn’t never be little!”
“Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!” joined in Waldo, Lily-pop, and Sparkie.
“I wouldn’t tell your mother that, if I were you,” I admonished them. “Besides, funny as it may seem, I assure you Mommola and I were little children at one time, long, long ago.”
“Before Benjamin got borned?” Itsy wanted to know.
“Oh, long before then,” I said.
“Oh,” she said in awe. “Gosh, you’re old!”
“Which is why we know everything,” I lied.
“Oh,” she said again.
“Anyway,” I continued, “as I was saying – you Teds remind Mommola and me of how to see the world like children do. Children don’t live in the world the way grown-ups do. Everything is new to them. They don’t see the difference between the real and the imaginary worlds that we do when we get older. They live in both worlds at one time and don’t see any difference between the two. Every experience is magnified for them. They feel everything more deeply than grown-ups do. Their little lives vibrate with bright colors, deep enchanting smells, clarion sounds, astounding tastes, intense feeling, and wonder.
“But as children get older and turn into grown-ups, they are taught to live more and more in only the real world. They are told in so many ways that if they want to be a grown-up, they have to leave the imaginary world behind.”
“Oh, no,” sympathized Itsy. “That’s sad.”
“Yes, it is sad,” I agreed. “Very sad. Which is why you Teds are so important to Mommola and me. Besides the fact that we love you very much, you also remind us of how we saw the world when we were children – not as either the real world or the imaginary world but as a blending of the two. You see, it is very hard for grown-ups to see the world that way. But we can only truly know what it means to have faith, hope, and joy if we can live and play in the imaginary world as well as in the real world.”
“Oh,” was all Itsy could say to all of that. Everyone else was suddenly very quiet, thinking about everything I had just told them.
“Most important of all, however,” I added, “is that love lives best in the imaginary world. So all of you remind us of just how deeply and thoroughly we love each other. Your soft, cuddly little bodies remind us how important it is for us to hug and kiss each other and to reaffirm our love through touch and snuggles as well as by telling each other, ‘I love you.’
“So you see,” I told them, “you have to come to our anniversary party. We couldn’t have it without you. Because of you, Mommola and I have learned that we could never see each other or the world as clearly as we see it through your eyes.”
“You can’t see out my eyes!” Itsy protested.
“That’s just an expression, Itsy,” Letta tried to explain.
“I hate ‘spreshuns!” Itsy exclaimed. “People should just say what they mean and not use ‘spreshuns!”
“No need to throw a fit,” Benjamin admonished her.
“I’m not frowing anything!” Itsy insisted. “But I will in a minute,” she added, bending down to grab some snow for a snowball.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Benjamin muttered.
“That was just an…,” Brighton began to explain to Itsy.
“I don’t think it would be a good idea to tell her that right now,” Letta suggested.
“Tell me what?” asked Itsy as she quickly formed her snowball.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Benjamin said, repeating himself.
“Never mind,” said Brighton.
“Okay,” Itsy said, as she cocked her arm back to throw her snowball.
Just then, Thea opened the back door and called out, “Who wants hot cocoa?”
And just like that, all animosities were forgotten, Itsy dropped her snowball, and the full embrace of Teds in the yard stampeded up to and through the back door, yelling, “Yayyyyy!!!!” all the way.
“Good timing,” I told my love, as I stamped the snow off my boots just inside the door. “As usual,” I added, giving her a peck on her soft, warm cheek.
Outside the heavens took the opportunity to dump another deluge of mammoth snowflakes on all of eternity. “Oh, my!” I exclaimed, with equal parts of dismay and wonder. “Definitely good timing,” I repeated, taking my mug of hot cocoa and going into the living room to settle down in my big, comfortable chair before the roaring fire.
“Don’t worry,” my sweetie consoled me, and she began to sing, “’Oh, the weather outside is frightful…’”
At which point I joined her, raising my mug toward the fireplace in a salute and singing, “’But the fire is so delightful…’”
Then older Teds joined us in singing, “’And since we’ve no place to go…’”
At which point, everyone joined in and sang out, “’Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!’”
Here's to our 34th, my Heart's Delight, Light of My Life!
The sky was indeed unloading a gawd-awful abundance of huge snowflakes on us. It felt as though we lived inside one of those little shake-and-flake snow globes.
After a breakfast of hot oatmeal and cocoa, everyone suited up in their warmest coats, hats, and mittens, and we went out into the blizzard. All except Bentley, that is, who remained indoors, snuggled warmly under his blankie, deep in hibernation.
In an attempt to siphon off some of the Teds’ excess energy, I first created a hill of snow that had different levels of slopes on each of its sides, varying from very gentle to extremely steep. The Teds boisterously began sledding and tobogganing down the hill even before I’d completed it. A daring few, with Birnie’s help, made skis out of popsicle sticks and skied down, shrieking with excitement all the while.
Of course, a series of snowball fights began as soon as the Teds hit the ground, although Thea gave strict instructions that no one could throw anything at the littlest ones. Itsy, however, showed Lily-pop, Waldo, and Sparkie how to take full advantage of their immunity by throwing snowballs at all of the bigger Teds. Happily, they couldn’t throw very hard or far, so even those few of their tiny snowballs that found a target did no damage. They enjoyed themselves immensely, nonetheless, not the least because they felt they were getting away with something.
Once I finished the snow hill, I began work on a large snowbear, with the help of Mack, Paddington, Kippy, Mr. Fluffy, Letta, Shoshonna, Birnie, Biwi, Brighton, and Benjamin. We first rolled up a big round ball of snow to serve as the base, then piled on two more big balls, in slightly decreasing sizes, one on top of the other. Mack, Paddington, and I next worked at forming two legs. Our snowbear sat comfortably on the ground and would eventually have his two arms stretched out to catch the snowflakes. Birnie and Biwi formed two ears and a snout, while the rest worked at packing snow in between the three big balls of snow. We would top it all off with two arms, a tail, and two black stones for eyes.
As I began attaching one of the snowbear’s arms with the help of Mack and Paddington, Itsy scrambled over and started bombarding us with her miniature snowballs. Letta took pity on us and came over to teach the little ones how to make snow angels. Itsy immediately threw herself into the production of seven or eight snow angels and just as quickly lost interest. Emerging from a mound of snow right at my feet, she looked up, with bonnet quite askew, and asked me, “Do you have a cannon, too, like me?”
Patting the snowbear’s arm into place at the shoulder, I answered, “No, I don’t. You’re the only one I know who has a cannon.”
“Oh,” she said. “Then what do you need to get ammo for?”
“Ammo?” I asked. “I don’t need any ammo.”
“Then why are you and Mommola gonna have a ammovursory?” she asked.
I interrupted my patting of the arm long enough to look down at her with, no doubt, a very puzzled look on my wind-reddened face. “We’re going to have a what?” I asked, blowing out a big funnel of steam from my mouth.
“A ammovursory,” she answered. “Letta said you and Mommola are gonna have a ammovursory pretty soon.”
Popping out from behind the snowbear’s other arm, Letta clarified, “She means anniversary. I told the little ones you and Mommola are going to celebrate your anniversary this month.”
“Yetz!” Itsy agreed. “That, too!”
“Ah, I see,” I said. Looking down at Itsy, I explained, “Mommola and I are going to celebrate our wedding anniversary in a few days. Every year we celebrate the day we got married and swore to love and cherish each other forever afterwards.”
“You sweared at each other?!” she exclaimed.
Chuckling, I assured her, “No we didn’t swear at each other. We never swear at each other. Only other people.”
“Oh,” she said. “But you said….”
“Yes, I know, but what I meant to say was that we promised to love and cherish each other all the rest of our days.”
“So when we have the party are you going to swear again?” Waldo wanted to know.
“Um, not exactly,” I told him. “But we are going to take the opportunity to remind each other exactly how much we mean to each other.”
“Why do you have to be reminded?” Sparkie wondered. “Don’t you remember it already?”
“Oh, we never forget how much we love each other,” I assured him. “Our love for each other is always there at the back of our minds and deep in our hearts. But sometimes we get caught up in other things that we are doing and don’t think so much about how much we love each other.”
“You should remember more,” Lily-pop admonished me.
“You are so right, little one,” I told her, picking her up and giving her a quick kiss before setting her, giggling, back down on the ground again.
“I bet Mommola remembers,” Itsy said. “She’s a girl. Girls remember better.”
“You’re probably right,” I agreed.
“I am,” she said. “I’m a girl.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Benjamin huffed indignantly while working on the snowbear’s snout.
“Now, dear, she’s just a baby,” Brighton soothed him.
“I’m a big baby!” Itsy insisted.
“You can say that again,” Benjamin frumped.
“Okay,” Itsy rejoined. “I’m a big baby!”
“OoOH!” Benjamin grumped, but Brighton managed to gently direct his attention back to the construction of the snowbear’s snout.
“Can we come to the party, too?” Waldo wanted to know.
“Yeth, can we, pleathe?” trilled Lily-pop.
“Yeah, please, please, please!” Sparkie, Itsy, and Waldo chanted, jumping up and down in the snow with manic enthusiasm, with Lily-pop piping, “Pleathe!” in counterpoint.
“Of course!” I said. “All of the Teds are invited.”
“Yay!” shouted every Ted in the backyard. “Par-dee!”
“We couldn’t celebrate properly without you,” I assured them.
“You couldn’t?” asked Itsy.
“Of course not,” I said. “Our anniversary is the day we remind each other of all of the special things we love about each other. And each and every one of you is part and parcel of some of the most important things we share with each other.”
“We are?” asked Lily-pop, amazement in her tiny voice.
“You most certainly are,” I told them.
“How do we do that?” Sparkie asked.
“Yeah, how?” Waldo also wanted to know.
“Well,” I began, while bending over to add more snow to our snowbear’s shoulder, “first off, you don’t live in the real world….”
“I should hope not!” Benjamin interjected. “I don’t believe in Realty! It sucks!”
“Yeah, it sucks!” echoed Waldo.
“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” I said, “but I know what you mean. Reality tends to be a place where everyone thinks about and interacts with material things. The things of reality don’t seem to have a life of their own. They’re thought of as just dead matter.”
“Ugh!” said Benjamin.
“Ick,” said Brighton.
“Poopie!” opined Itsy, who was immediately and gleefully echoed by her chorus of little ones, “Yeah, poopie! Poopie, poopie, poopie!”
“Yes, well, be that as it may,” I hastily spoke up. “It isn’t always fun living in the real world. And as everyone who knows anything knows, you have to get some fun out of life! Otherwise it just isn’t worth living.”
“You can’t live at all if you don’t have any fun,” agreed Benjamin.
“Well, some people try,” I informed him. “In fact, some people get to be really good at not having any fun.”
“That isn’t any fun,” observed Itsy indignantly.
“No, it isn’t,” I agreed. “And that’s where you Teds come in.”
“It is?” asked Waldo in amazement.
“Yes, it is,” I said. “As I said before, you don’t live in the real world. You live in the bright and beautiful world of imagination.”
“Sometimes it could get dark and cold, though,” said Sparkie, thoughtfully.
“Oh, sure,” I agreed. “Just because you live in the imaginary world doesn’t mean there can’t sometimes be pain and sorrow there. It isn’t all fun and happiness.”
“Oh,” said Lily-pop quietly, looking sad.
“But you always know the pain and sorrow, when they come, won’t stay long. They don’t last,” I told them.
“They don’t?” asked Sparkie.
“Why not?” asked Itsy.
“Because you can always imagine something else that’s bright and joyful,” I said. “Things like friends and laughter and making snow angels and drinking hot cocoa with the little white things in it on a cold, wintry day like today.”
“Yeah, it’s cold today, but we don’t care,” said Sparkie. “’Cause we’re having fun!”
“Exactly,” I said. “Because in our imaginary world everything is alive and always changing in new and fun ways. But in the real world there’s always the chance that you get so stuck in unhappy things that you start to think you can never get out of them.”
“But you can get out of them!” Itsy insisted.
“Yes, absolutely,” I agreed wholeheartedly, “You can get unstuck from your unhappiness by taking a chance and stepping into the imaginary world where you never know what’s around the next corner, and where there’s always the hope of a better tomorrow.”
“You can never get to tomorrow,” Itsy informed me. “Tomorrow never gets here. You can only get to today.”
“That is so true,” I said. “Nevertheless, things change. They change all the time. Things get better for a while, then they get worse, and then better again. But you can see that much more easily in the imaginary world.”
“But how do you know things will get better?” Benjamin wanted to know.
“Well, you never really know, in the sense that people in the real world mean when they say they know something,” I mused. “That is, you can’t make a timetable that will tell you exactly when things will get better. But you can know in the sense that you have faith that things will get better. But faith is something you can have only in the imaginary world. There isn’t much room for faith in the real world. It isn’t something you can touch and feel. Neither is hope or charity or any of the other virtues of a full life. Those are only available in the imaginary world. And that’s where Teddy Bears live.”
“Yetz!” Itsy enthused. “’Cause we’re the goodest!”
“You are indeed,” I agreed. “You’re playful and silly and full of fun and laughter and joy. You live in the moment and feel it to the fullest. Those are all reasons you are so important to Mommola and me. You keep the child in us alive.”
“Are you going to have a baby?” Itsy asked excitedly.
“No, not that kind of child,” I chuckled. “I mean the children we were when we were little ourselves.”
“Ha, ha, ha!” Itsy laughed. “You and Mommola couldn’t never be little!”
“Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!” joined in Waldo, Lily-pop, and Sparkie.
“I wouldn’t tell your mother that, if I were you,” I admonished them. “Besides, funny as it may seem, I assure you Mommola and I were little children at one time, long, long ago.”
“Before Benjamin got borned?” Itsy wanted to know.
“Oh, long before then,” I said.
“Oh,” she said in awe. “Gosh, you’re old!”
“Which is why we know everything,” I lied.
“Oh,” she said again.
“Anyway,” I continued, “as I was saying – you Teds remind Mommola and me of how to see the world like children do. Children don’t live in the world the way grown-ups do. Everything is new to them. They don’t see the difference between the real and the imaginary worlds that we do when we get older. They live in both worlds at one time and don’t see any difference between the two. Every experience is magnified for them. They feel everything more deeply than grown-ups do. Their little lives vibrate with bright colors, deep enchanting smells, clarion sounds, astounding tastes, intense feeling, and wonder.
“But as children get older and turn into grown-ups, they are taught to live more and more in only the real world. They are told in so many ways that if they want to be a grown-up, they have to leave the imaginary world behind.”
“Oh, no,” sympathized Itsy. “That’s sad.”
“Yes, it is sad,” I agreed. “Very sad. Which is why you Teds are so important to Mommola and me. Besides the fact that we love you very much, you also remind us of how we saw the world when we were children – not as either the real world or the imaginary world but as a blending of the two. You see, it is very hard for grown-ups to see the world that way. But we can only truly know what it means to have faith, hope, and joy if we can live and play in the imaginary world as well as in the real world.”
“Oh,” was all Itsy could say to all of that. Everyone else was suddenly very quiet, thinking about everything I had just told them.
“Most important of all, however,” I added, “is that love lives best in the imaginary world. So all of you remind us of just how deeply and thoroughly we love each other. Your soft, cuddly little bodies remind us how important it is for us to hug and kiss each other and to reaffirm our love through touch and snuggles as well as by telling each other, ‘I love you.’
“So you see,” I told them, “you have to come to our anniversary party. We couldn’t have it without you. Because of you, Mommola and I have learned that we could never see each other or the world as clearly as we see it through your eyes.”
“You can’t see out my eyes!” Itsy protested.
“That’s just an expression, Itsy,” Letta tried to explain.
“I hate ‘spreshuns!” Itsy exclaimed. “People should just say what they mean and not use ‘spreshuns!”
“No need to throw a fit,” Benjamin admonished her.
“I’m not frowing anything!” Itsy insisted. “But I will in a minute,” she added, bending down to grab some snow for a snowball.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Benjamin muttered.
“That was just an…,” Brighton began to explain to Itsy.
“I don’t think it would be a good idea to tell her that right now,” Letta suggested.
“Tell me what?” asked Itsy as she quickly formed her snowball.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Benjamin said, repeating himself.
“Never mind,” said Brighton.
“Okay,” Itsy said, as she cocked her arm back to throw her snowball.
Just then, Thea opened the back door and called out, “Who wants hot cocoa?”
And just like that, all animosities were forgotten, Itsy dropped her snowball, and the full embrace of Teds in the yard stampeded up to and through the back door, yelling, “Yayyyyy!!!!” all the way.
“Good timing,” I told my love, as I stamped the snow off my boots just inside the door. “As usual,” I added, giving her a peck on her soft, warm cheek.
Outside the heavens took the opportunity to dump another deluge of mammoth snowflakes on all of eternity. “Oh, my!” I exclaimed, with equal parts of dismay and wonder. “Definitely good timing,” I repeated, taking my mug of hot cocoa and going into the living room to settle down in my big, comfortable chair before the roaring fire.
“Don’t worry,” my sweetie consoled me, and she began to sing, “’Oh, the weather outside is frightful…’”
At which point I joined her, raising my mug toward the fireplace in a salute and singing, “’But the fire is so delightful…’”
Then older Teds joined us in singing, “’And since we’ve no place to go…’”
At which point, everyone joined in and sang out, “’Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!’”
Here's to our 34th, my Heart's Delight, Light of My Life!
