Hubby is my hero.
He is also pretty good with a needle, so it comes as no surprise that he is responsible for Grandad’s makeover.
The pilot in this picture is Rembrandt (but that’s another story).
Grandad is my bear, the keeper of my childhood secrets, a bear that is just a few months younger than I, a bear I would not have had his predecessor not been stolen off my pram when I was a baby.
Grandad has not been well.
His sense of smell had gone for a bucket of chalk, and his chin was sporting whiskers that fell out by themselves without shaving.
But the main concern was for his hands and feet, which are showing their age.
There are no liver spots as the original leather pads have disintegrated, and my mother’s caring darns of yesteryear are hardly holding them together now.
Yesterday, we purchased felt and silks, and Hubby worked his magic.
The top picture in the above sequence shows Grandad sporting a new nose and repaired chin which Hubby did last night.
Grandad was very brave and didn’t cry out once whilst the cosmetic surgery was taking place. He suffered the indignity of being upside down whilst prodded and poked with a needle and thread, shuddered as rotten fabric was cut away to give him extra stuffing support in his left wrist, and winced as he was squeezed and manipulated into shape.
The material on his arms has also started to rot away, so Grandad has dual functional paddypaws that double up as mittens.
This is how he looks now:
I can explain the pants.
They date back to around 1962 when my Great Grandmother visited and made my sister and I new frocks. To protect my bear’s modesty (he also used to wear a purple net tutu, another of Gran’s creations originally being a petticoat), she made them for him out of one of the scraps.
We can’t do anything about his baldness, but we can buy him a little romper suit to keep him warm.
Dr Hubby is a miracle worker.
That is one very happy, and clearly loved, bear! (And I bet he’s the best listener one could ever have) 🙂
As a kid, he was my best friend. My sister’s bear wore out in the 60s and I can’t remember if it was Gran or Mum that gave him a completely new skin. It was bright blue, but I don’t think she has him anymore.
My eldest sister (UK) passed away many years ago and left a note that all her bears (lots!) were to come and live with me here (Canada). They each came with a little note covering their history and a brief description so that I knew who was who! They are still here!
So sorry for your loss, but you have her bears. How wonderful.
We had to split our Hug and kept only a few. I have regrets about one we gave away, but we couldn’t keep them all. One sack full of some of our favourites was given to a guy with a two year old son who loved teddy bears. I hope Ralph (our biggest) and the guys are looking after him OK.
Wow. That is pure and undying love. On both your part to the bear, and your husband’s toward you. Grandad is your velveteen rabbit, and one lucky fellow. Long may he live and prosper.
Grandad will live forever because of Dr Hubby and his magic needle. 😀
That is so sweet!
Hubby is pretty Ace, isn’t he.
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Aw! ❤ Granddad is a loved bear, that's clear! I had my childhood teddy until I moved this time. I may still have him somewhere, but I suspect he got thrown out when I wasn't looking. I'd have stopped them, even if he turned out to be mouse nibbled. Like Granddad, he was threadbare and worn, but I loved him dearly. I still have a vague memory of when he was brand new, still plush and smiling, his button eyes shining. And now I've got a bit of smoke in my eyes, so you'll have to excuse me. There's a sharp tug on the heart strings just now. Bless you and bless your hubby's nimble fingers!!
Thanks Melanie. Grandad is still with us on the dressing table,
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