Entry tags:
prinkle
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When I was a very little girl, I had a pink gingham dress that I loved. I loved it so much that when I outgrew it that my mum turned it into a pillow. I couldn't say gingham, and somehow it became known as my prinkle dress and then prinkle pillow. I slept with it every night, wherever we went.
I've been cleaning out stuff from the house; and making a particular effort with a closet in my bedroom, that is largely useless for clothes, because it's spilling out with other things. And making enough progress that this past week, I'd considered a few times some of the things I knew were in there. Thought about the threadbare, stained, lumpen prinkle pillow.
I stood in my bedroom this morning, holding it. One of the pieces of advice for letting go of things is to take photos if they have a sentimental value. But... what would I do with a picture of a bedraggled pillow? I thought about why it was important. It reminds me of my mother; who I love, and is still alive and well. If I want to connect with her, surely picking up the phone is better than holding on to a pillow. And then I remembered the times as a child when I would cry and cry helplessly into the pillow; feeling friendless and miserable. Hardly feelings I want to hold onto.
And then I thought: when I feel like that now, I can call my friends. I'm not alone. I don't need this pillow, because I have far, far better support networks than a worn out child's dress stuffed with polyester.
And with gratitude, put it in the garbage bag, and out to the curb.