From Abromov's Home and Garden
Dearest grandson,
I truly hope this letter reaches you, as it not only reassures you that I am well, but also means that Tobias is still safe as well.
I have, these past years, still resided in New York. Fortunately it's as cosmopolitan a city as London, but so much further from you and my old home. Having taken up residence in a shop for curiosities and antiques in Brooklyn, I hoped that I would luck into someone who would take me back across the sea, and it so very nearly came to pass.
At first it seemed that I was undone in my plans by my own fine manufacture. This shop, where I sat near the front window, became known all over the boroughs as "the place with the bronze pig" and many came from miles around just to admire me. They would also depart with a lamp, lawn ornament or some household knicknack, so the proprietor, Mr. Abromov, was not keen to let go of me -- even telling customers that I was not for sale!
Over the years, I made peace with my situation, understanding that I played an important role in the running of this establishment. Although most of my fellow pieces were subject to being purchased at any time, I was courteous to all, and made friends with several items that managed to remain here season after season.
Chipped Rabbit would have been discarded long ago, but Mr. Abromov's granddaughter Leah adores him, so he never left the shelf. She took amusement in watching the customers pick him up, then noted how long it took before they noticed the flaw and set him back down. The record is barely two seconds; the mark for longest time went to a woman who very nearly bought him anyway -- oh, the panic in Leah's eyes when the lady decided the chip was actually charming. But she was distracted by a noise in my direction -- which if she didn't know any better sounded like a metallic cough -- and noticed the pristine bunnies next to the fountain. Leah took the cue to note that those rabbits were half-price, and Chippy remained with us.
But my dearest friend has been Tobias. His kind used to be highly prized, but more recently he had proven impossible to sell. Some customers still noted his presence with mild amusement, but others, especially younger men and women, looked upon him with disgust. This gave Tobias a great deal of distress. I assured him that this was not his fault, he could not help the form into which he was fashioned. On the bright side, his situation gave us the chance to be constant companions in this highly transient atmosphere.
It came to pass, though, that Mr. Abromov passed away, and the family decided to liquidate the shop. On the bright side, Leah came home from the University to help. She greeted me and Tobias with warm pats on the head and promised Chippy he'd have a place on her own shelf.
It was on that day that two particular customers came to the shop. One told the Abromovs that he had a similar establishment by his estate in England and that he'd help the family by "buying the lot" and shipping it home.
"Even the lawn jockey?" Leah asked.
"I have a nephew who lives north of London," the man said, smiling, "who will want to repaint it to 'display ironically,' as he would say."
My metallic heart leapt at the news. If I could manage to go to this nephew's place as well, I'd be so much closer to you and my old home in the Wood. But then I remembered the other customer, who arrived just an hour earlier. She gave Leah's mother a fraction of Tobias's cost to "take it off your hands." Thinking him unsellable, Mrs. Abromov took the money. Later, Chippy told me what his good ear had heard the woman say. She gave Leah a large military duffel bag and said to put Tobias in it so that she didn't have to even look at him, and said she would be back the next day to take him and "have the foul thing melted down."
Whatever "ironic display" was, it had to be better than a fate like this. My friend struggled not to weep. I told him it would only lead to rust, but he retorted that he would not live long enough for such damage to be noticeable. At this point I resolved to a plan, which I told Chippy before Leah took him away to her room for the night.
At midnight, Leah returned, her half-asleep condition more conducive to our conversing. "How are you able to talk?" she asked. "And to me?"
"There is more life around us than most people understand," I said. "And as you love us, a part of you still believes." I then explained what she needed to do.
Tobias she shifted to a place among other lawn ornaments, obscured by some deer, as the gnomes -- helpful as they are -- were not tall enough. She then placed the duffel over me, after I dictated to her this letter to you, in which I trust she has faithfully recorded my every word. (I have -- L.A.) The letter will be carried with Tobias to England.
Soon I will be on my way to a new adventure with my unwitting owners. I don't fear the melting fire myself, for I know my worth at auction, as I'm sure does the bitter woman who has "purchased" me. I had hoped to eventually join you in the Mother Country, but it seems my wanderings will continue for another season.
I trust you will stay well, grandson Piglet. Give my regards to your friend, the Bear.
Ever truly yours,
Trespassers William
- - - - -
This is my entry for LJ Idol: Exhibit A, Week 9, contestant's choice topic: "Pig in a Poke."
The term relates to the centuries-old scam of selling sight-unseen a young pig in a sack, only to have the buyer find he has a cat or other less-valuable animal in the bag, thus warning against purchasing without due diligence.
Once again I'm writing in the world of Winnie the Pooh -- Trespassers William was Piglet's grandfather, and original owner of Piglet's home (which still has the sign saying "Trespassers Will"). As far as I know, no official lore is written about the elder pig, so I took license. A bronze pig related to a plush piglet? Why not.
A lawn jockey is a smallish metal statue of a man -- traditionally African-American -- in jockey garb to stand by the front gate of a home, originally for tying one's horse. Though they remain popular with some people, they are considered by many (most?) to be an offensive racist stereotype. I don't have feelings for or against them, and wouldn't want one of my own, but in a world in which inanimate objects have hearts and minds, ethical dilemmas such as the one illustrated above are likely to happen.
I truly hope this letter reaches you, as it not only reassures you that I am well, but also means that Tobias is still safe as well.
I have, these past years, still resided in New York. Fortunately it's as cosmopolitan a city as London, but so much further from you and my old home. Having taken up residence in a shop for curiosities and antiques in Brooklyn, I hoped that I would luck into someone who would take me back across the sea, and it so very nearly came to pass.
At first it seemed that I was undone in my plans by my own fine manufacture. This shop, where I sat near the front window, became known all over the boroughs as "the place with the bronze pig" and many came from miles around just to admire me. They would also depart with a lamp, lawn ornament or some household knicknack, so the proprietor, Mr. Abromov, was not keen to let go of me -- even telling customers that I was not for sale!
Over the years, I made peace with my situation, understanding that I played an important role in the running of this establishment. Although most of my fellow pieces were subject to being purchased at any time, I was courteous to all, and made friends with several items that managed to remain here season after season.
Chipped Rabbit would have been discarded long ago, but Mr. Abromov's granddaughter Leah adores him, so he never left the shelf. She took amusement in watching the customers pick him up, then noted how long it took before they noticed the flaw and set him back down. The record is barely two seconds; the mark for longest time went to a woman who very nearly bought him anyway -- oh, the panic in Leah's eyes when the lady decided the chip was actually charming. But she was distracted by a noise in my direction -- which if she didn't know any better sounded like a metallic cough -- and noticed the pristine bunnies next to the fountain. Leah took the cue to note that those rabbits were half-price, and Chippy remained with us.
But my dearest friend has been Tobias. His kind used to be highly prized, but more recently he had proven impossible to sell. Some customers still noted his presence with mild amusement, but others, especially younger men and women, looked upon him with disgust. This gave Tobias a great deal of distress. I assured him that this was not his fault, he could not help the form into which he was fashioned. On the bright side, his situation gave us the chance to be constant companions in this highly transient atmosphere.
It came to pass, though, that Mr. Abromov passed away, and the family decided to liquidate the shop. On the bright side, Leah came home from the University to help. She greeted me and Tobias with warm pats on the head and promised Chippy he'd have a place on her own shelf.
It was on that day that two particular customers came to the shop. One told the Abromovs that he had a similar establishment by his estate in England and that he'd help the family by "buying the lot" and shipping it home.
"Even the lawn jockey?" Leah asked.
"I have a nephew who lives north of London," the man said, smiling, "who will want to repaint it to 'display ironically,' as he would say."
My metallic heart leapt at the news. If I could manage to go to this nephew's place as well, I'd be so much closer to you and my old home in the Wood. But then I remembered the other customer, who arrived just an hour earlier. She gave Leah's mother a fraction of Tobias's cost to "take it off your hands." Thinking him unsellable, Mrs. Abromov took the money. Later, Chippy told me what his good ear had heard the woman say. She gave Leah a large military duffel bag and said to put Tobias in it so that she didn't have to even look at him, and said she would be back the next day to take him and "have the foul thing melted down."
Whatever "ironic display" was, it had to be better than a fate like this. My friend struggled not to weep. I told him it would only lead to rust, but he retorted that he would not live long enough for such damage to be noticeable. At this point I resolved to a plan, which I told Chippy before Leah took him away to her room for the night.
At midnight, Leah returned, her half-asleep condition more conducive to our conversing. "How are you able to talk?" she asked. "And to me?"
"There is more life around us than most people understand," I said. "And as you love us, a part of you still believes." I then explained what she needed to do.
Tobias she shifted to a place among other lawn ornaments, obscured by some deer, as the gnomes -- helpful as they are -- were not tall enough. She then placed the duffel over me, after I dictated to her this letter to you, in which I trust she has faithfully recorded my every word. (I have -- L.A.) The letter will be carried with Tobias to England.
Soon I will be on my way to a new adventure with my unwitting owners. I don't fear the melting fire myself, for I know my worth at auction, as I'm sure does the bitter woman who has "purchased" me. I had hoped to eventually join you in the Mother Country, but it seems my wanderings will continue for another season.
I trust you will stay well, grandson Piglet. Give my regards to your friend, the Bear.
Ever truly yours,
Trespassers William
- - - - -
This is my entry for LJ Idol: Exhibit A, Week 9, contestant's choice topic: "Pig in a Poke."
The term relates to the centuries-old scam of selling sight-unseen a young pig in a sack, only to have the buyer find he has a cat or other less-valuable animal in the bag, thus warning against purchasing without due diligence.
Once again I'm writing in the world of Winnie the Pooh -- Trespassers William was Piglet's grandfather, and original owner of Piglet's home (which still has the sign saying "Trespassers Will"). As far as I know, no official lore is written about the elder pig, so I took license. A bronze pig related to a plush piglet? Why not.
A lawn jockey is a smallish metal statue of a man -- traditionally African-American -- in jockey garb to stand by the front gate of a home, originally for tying one's horse. Though they remain popular with some people, they are considered by many (most?) to be an offensive racist stereotype. I don't have feelings for or against them, and wouldn't want one of my own, but in a world in which inanimate objects have hearts and minds, ethical dilemmas such as the one illustrated above are likely to happen.