Something About My Bear

Let me tell you something, something about my bear.

mybearI have been wanting to gather a collection of images of people with their bears, with a few words about them. To begin I thought I would find my bear. Last night I tucked her up in bed with me and in the middle of the night the strangest thing happened.

First, my bear felt too small. I could have sworn she was bigger, and then the child inside me began to remember.

Walking up the road on the way home from Swan Lane School, hand reaching up into my mother’s hand, feet bright in new shoes, Startright sandals. I remembered how the buckles jingled, how the leather smelt when I took them out of the box, the sound of the soles on the floor. Crepe soles. Looking in the window of Boots, the Chemist in Evesham. A curved window. It was autumn. There on a shelf, high up, a panda, in a box. It was love at first sight.

Every day on the way back from school, stop, look at the panda, dream, hope, wish.

Then one day my Auntie Win came and we went for a walk, through the park into town and I took her to look through the curved window and NO. How could it be? She was gone. Heart fell. Sad. Walking home.

Then, Christmas day and a parcel from Aunty Win, and inside, oh. My bear. Mine. My panda. And her name was Suzi.

She went everywhere with me for a while, and then was always there in my bed when I came home. Loved until her fur fell off and dropped into puddles and washed and oh the trauma if ever she was lost. I knit her a red jumper when I had learned to knit.

Then she went to college.

Suzi came too.


Time flies. But a small bear brought back so many memories as once again, after so many years of neglect I cuddled her close, of how big she felt in my hands and feelings and the smell of new shoes and walking home from school, and of my auntie, who is now dead, though sometimes I forget. And now I understand how sometimes we never really understand how much we love someone until they are no longer there.

And now I would like, if you will for you to tell me Something About Your Bear. So send me a photo if you have one, and a few words. I want to build a blog post of memories, to celebrate the launch of Something About a Bear. ( email your photos to me, and I will begin to build a page. If you have a website send me places to link to also)


Please share if you will.



About Jackie

I am an artist and writer. I live in a small house by the sea in Wales where I write, paint, walk and watch and dream of bears and whales. I love to read, have a wish for wings and prefer the company of animals to that of humans, though at times I can be quite friendly. I am learning how to work with wood engraving tools and hoping to show that you can teach an old dog new tricks.
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4 Responses to Something About My Bear

  1. Deana Dale says:

    My mom said I had a bear when I was very little, but I don’t remember it. I do remember crocheting a bear while in high school. I was in 4-H, and thought I could only work on it during the meetings, so it took a while. I entered my little bear in the County Fair and he won a 1st place ribbon with gold seal. If you got the gold seal you were invited to enter your item in the state fair, so I did. Little bear got 3rd. Not bad for a first time try. I have made many different versions and sizes of the bear over the past 30 years, but the most important bear is the silver pendent my sister’s family gave me. I wore on the first day of temp work, new job after weeks of no work. I got offered a job which I accepted. I was told that little silver bear was one of the first things human resources remembered about me. Not your normal office/professional accessory. I wear that bear almost every day to work. I have, until recently, had a crocheted bear in my cubicle. Maybe I should be my purple one back, heaven knows we need something to us smile.

  2. Linda Haecker says:

    I almost feel sad and guilty when I look at the pictures of other’s Bears, so well loved and worn. Then look at the Pooh I got to help my mother make for me when I was about 12 or 13. My Pooh looks almost new, though he is almost 50 years old. It is his second red felt shirt, as his first had become faded and worn, but he still looks new. I guess if he’d been mine when I was much younger he would’ve shared so many more of my childhood adventures and comforted me through many more scary and sad times. He did comfort me through one adult experience, only a couple of years ago, as I got a tattoo. A tattoo of Pooh and Piglet walking on a path beside a tree. He may not look well worn with love, but he will always be my hero and companion.

  3. Amy Bogard says:

    Hi Jackie! Attempting to send some snapshots in an email but they keep bouncing back saying ‘mail quota exceeded’. Not sure if this is on my end or yours but wanted to mention it. Would love to share our bears with you!

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