Think of an object you treasure.
Hold that image in your mind.
Why do you treasure it? From where does its value come?
The answers are as varied as the world has objects to hold dear.
Perhaps it conjures memories.
Perhaps a loved one owned it or gave it to us.
Perhaps it has high monetary value.
Perhaps we found it on a day we felt low.
But in all cases, a treasured item holds value because we ascribe value to it, because we hold it in esteem, because it stirs our emotions or soothes our fears or transports us away from the everyday, the commonplace.
Yet when we strip our perceived value away from the object, we see the object in its most basic essence (hold onto this last word).
The truth about all material objects is that they will, eventually, break down, rust, crumble, yellow, mold, crack. We can preserve items and delay the process. But decay is their fate. Heck, it's even our fate.
Sometimes a crocheted mouse, no matter how loved, no matter how much value WE attach to him, is just that: strands of gray and red yarn and stuffing. And even crocheted mice can't escape their fate and must go to the place all toys must go someday.
And sometimes, we do not control when and where and how and why that happens.
Isn't it ironic that this was the last photo I snapped of Bertrand and posted on his Instagram page?
I snapped it at 7:05 a.m. May 5, 2021. And see? He's still wearing the facemask he wore all during COVID, courtesy of Rebekah, who made it for him.
The road before him beckons and leads to where we cannot see. And Bertrand pauses at its threshhold. Perhaps he sensed what we could not?
After I took the photo, I pushed him back into my pocket. I never saw him again. And to say I desperately miss him is an understatement.
But this is not the end of Bertrand's story.
Keep scrolling.
And try to follow the path of my mind.
Many science fiction fans have watched, or at least know of, Doctor Who. It's a BBC-produced science fiction show that piloted in 1963 and is still running today.
Because it's aired for so long, my kids and I have seen different versions. The Doctor himself, a Time Lord who travels on a ship called the TARDIS (Time and Relative Dimensions in Space), is a bit of an enigma.
That turned out to be an advantage to the show. In a 2013 article, The Atlantic said:
"When it started in 1963, Doctor Who should not have succeeded. A committee created it, to fill a time slot. It had a small budget. The BBC intended for it to be a children's educational show focusing on science and history. Oh, and it debuted the night after John F. Kennedy was assassinated."
Three years later, the main character had to be replaced. Short reason: the actor, William Hartnell, was ill and could not be Doctor Who anymore.
So the concept of "regenerating" him began.
And it worked.
Without Hartnell's illness, without the regeneration, Doctor Who would not be fresh and alive today and on its thirteenth regeneration (if my count is accurate).
A really important part of the show was having the Doctor regenerate in the middle of a storyline. Doctor Who storylines had multiple episodes, which ended on a cliffhanger.
So when the Doctor did regenerate, he typically did in the middle of a storyline, with the "new" Doctor eventually completing the story (which could take a few more episodes) and continuing on with the series.
Some Doctors only lasted a couple of seasons. And some stayed for nearly a decade.
For the curious (or nostalgic), here's a video that shows all the regenerations.
So it turns out the essence of Bertrand, after all, is not just gray and red yarn and stuffing. For Bertrand is a little bit of everyone who created him, everyone who esteemed him, everyone who cradled him.
If Bertrand had not gone missing, my three youngest adult children would not have shown their fine character by spending hours (on more than one occasion), retracing all the various routes Rebekah and I took on our morning walks in the hopes of spotting him lying on the ground, waiting to be found.
If Bertrand had not gone missing, the mother of one of Bertrand's former fans would not have taken ten hours of her time to study Bertrand's Instagram photos in order to "discover" Uncle Barty and make sure he arrived safely in Joliet to search for his missing nephew.
If Bertrand had not gone missing, his real mommy would never have pushed herself to "regenerate" him, to ensure he continues to delight children of all ages for a very long time to come.
If Bertrand had not gone missing, Sarah and I would not have brainstormed some new projects for Bertrand, projects that required the type of explanation I had to tease out in these last two posts.
For the essence of Bertrand is love - love and imagination and creativity, traits that keep us forever young.
And love, where it reigns, makes everything OK.
It's OK if Bertrand, when he comes home, isn't quite the Bertrand we remember. It's OK if the red in the ears is not exactly in the right place. It's OK if the tail is a little too short or a little too long. It's OK if the nose is a little too pointy or slightly rounded.
That's good news for us, too. You see, I don't look like this anymore. In fact, I haven't looked like this for fifty-eight years.
But I am still me. So now...
...it's time for the next chapter in Bertrand's tail/tale.
And I will share that in tomorrow's post.
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