Letter from Publisher
Tracy Patterson, BSc, MES
I was thinking the other day about how wonderful it is to have downsized and cut out major clutter in my life. Although it feels great—even the house smells better and feels lighter—going through 25 years of boxed “stuff” was very emotional, and one of the hardest things I’ve had to do.
The thing that’s interesting about downsizing to this extent is not only how painful the process is but also how you arrive at what you actually choose to keep. After taking extensive amounts to the thrift store, antique store and recycling depot, I ended up with a pretty strange mix of keepers. Among these old newfound treasures was my Pokey. What, you ask, is a Pokey? Pokey, the dear pony friend of Gumby from back in the ‘50s and ‘60s, has been in my life since my grandpa took me shopping more than 50 years ago. He told me I could pick out anything I wanted, and I wanted Pokey. Being a stick pony, I could actually “ride” him, which made it even more enticing to a little girl who was horse crazy.
Pokey was my friend throughout childhood, and we shared many great adventures. Spying on neighbours, fearlessly tackling jump courses in the front yard, and riding through the field at the end of the street, to name a few. He remained with me even after I had outgrown him, and made it through the culling of childhood toys that occurred over the years. When I came across him each time we moved, I just didn’t have it in me to let him go. So, he made the moves with me.
During the last move, I didn’t have a safe place for him, so I asked the movers if they could find a spot where he’d be out of harm’s way. Now keep in mind this is a very young child’s slightly beaten up toy—a faded orange plastic head on a wood stick painted ugly green, with a little orange plastic bobble for a tail. And of all the furniture, and boxes of useful and valuable items our movers were handling, this was the item I brought to them and said: “Do you have a safe place he can go? Nothing can happen to him under any circumstance.”
I braced myself for a snide comment, but one of the young men, without even blinking an eye, replied, “Yes, I have the perfect spot.” So, high atop a piece of wide furniture, with a moving pad to protect him, my Pokey rode to his new destination. He was the last on and the first off.
I have no idea what great truth comes from this, and what has kept Pokey in my life all these years. Whatever it is, I’ve decided that his new job is to remind me, from his vantage point in my office, to be playful every day. To see the charm in the little things in life—even an old plastic Pokey.
I hope you enjoy this issue of Natural Awakenings, and Happy Thanksgiving!