First, let me apologize to any quilters out there for my lack of quilting/sewing related posts lately. I've been sewing, but I have little to show for it. Some projects aren't going as planned with frustrations of many types: I've broken needles, sewed things together backwards or upside down, chosen fabric poorly, had thread break, nest and just plain look awful and lots of other errors that I thought I would never make again - all resulting in a lot of un-sewing (again, such a kinder word than "ripping out"). Perhaps next week I'll have a finished project to share.
Anyway, today I was thinking about a friend from my early childhood. When I was about three or four, my best friend was named Mary Lou. We liked all the same things, we played well together and had lots of fun. But here's the thing: only I could see Mary Lou because she was invisible to everyone else. She was a small brunette with shoulder length hair and light eyes. We entertained each other for days. My mother, bless her heart, went along with the entire invisible friend thing. My sister's introduction to Mary Lou was a bit dramatic. She came home from school one day and let the screen door slam behind her only to hear me shriek, "You shut the door on Mary Lou!!" She became a bit confused when she looked behind her and saw nothing. My mother quickly explained, in a very uncritical way about my special friend. And my sister just rolled with it, too.
And, since one thing that all kids like is a birthday party, I decided that Mary Lou needed to have one. My mother baked a cake and helped me prepare the party. Of course Mary Lou's seat was "empty" but the others had stuffed animals in them. I also recruited my family members to help sing. About this time my practical father was a bit concerned that his youngest child was...well....crazy. I remember my parents talking in hushed tones about weather I needed to see the doctor. My mother assured him that this was a normal phase and that it would go away. He didn't look too reassured.
But Mary Lou did go away. I don't remember when or why so it mustn't have been particularly traumatic. We just stopped playing together and I guess I moved on to other interests or perhaps some real relationships with other children. I still remember her well, but she has never changed or grown up in my mind. I guess that's a good thing, or we would be saying "schizophrenia" instead of "childhood phase". Hmm....maybe she sews?
Anyway, today I was thinking about a friend from my early childhood. When I was about three or four, my best friend was named Mary Lou. We liked all the same things, we played well together and had lots of fun. But here's the thing: only I could see Mary Lou because she was invisible to everyone else. She was a small brunette with shoulder length hair and light eyes. We entertained each other for days. My mother, bless her heart, went along with the entire invisible friend thing. My sister's introduction to Mary Lou was a bit dramatic. She came home from school one day and let the screen door slam behind her only to hear me shriek, "You shut the door on Mary Lou!!" She became a bit confused when she looked behind her and saw nothing. My mother quickly explained, in a very uncritical way about my special friend. And my sister just rolled with it, too.
And, since one thing that all kids like is a birthday party, I decided that Mary Lou needed to have one. My mother baked a cake and helped me prepare the party. Of course Mary Lou's seat was "empty" but the others had stuffed animals in them. I also recruited my family members to help sing. About this time my practical father was a bit concerned that his youngest child was...well....crazy. I remember my parents talking in hushed tones about weather I needed to see the doctor. My mother assured him that this was a normal phase and that it would go away. He didn't look too reassured.
But Mary Lou did go away. I don't remember when or why so it mustn't have been particularly traumatic. We just stopped playing together and I guess I moved on to other interests or perhaps some real relationships with other children. I still remember her well, but she has never changed or grown up in my mind. I guess that's a good thing, or we would be saying "schizophrenia" instead of "childhood phase". Hmm....maybe she sews?
What a creative person you have been all of your life! I LOVE stories such as these!
ReplyDeleteI too had an invisible friend for a time but I don't remember half as vividly as you do. I do however remember Plushy, who still lives with us. This was my father's invisible 'friend' who was blamed for all sorts of things, doors blowing shut, things not being where he thought they were, things going wrong. Poor Plushy, he still gets blamed for things.
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