I was never the kind of child that needed any given object in order drift comfortably to sleep,
only the sound of my parents' voices.
The only thing I can remember ever really being attached to was my Pippi Longstocking doll.
I cried for hours when I thought Maman had finally disposed of it (she really hadn't).
Heaven only knows where it is now.
But Pippi was the hero of my childhood years.
Hers were the books I first checked out from the school library,
over and over again.
The librarian let me buy one of the older, tattered ones for 10 cents.
If I only knew what happened to it.
She was a friend, one who at times annoyed and fascinated me simultaneously.
She had a monkey, a horse, a trunkful of gold, and Villa Villekulla all to herself.
She could do anything.
Adventure was her lifestyle.
She wasn't pretty, or graceful
but she could single-handedly lift a horse,
she was never afraid of anything,
she was extremely clever,
she could spin the strangest, most intricate stories on a whim,
and she was completely independent.
She had total freedom.
She totally rocked.
And I loved her.
New project: make myself a new Pippi doll.