Missed teddy bear picnic still smarts a sick Weaver

Gentle readers, I write this week's column to you from my deathbed.

The cold that's been wreaking havoc across the Columbia Basin? I, too, have fallen as its victim.

Runny, stuffy nose? Check.

The occasional fever? Check.

A throat which feels like razor blades when I go to swallow? Checkmate. This shall be the end of me.

Actually, I'm always willing to give up the ghost whenever sickness beckons. This is because I am a man, and therefore a wimp.

This time, my illness caused me to miss out on the Washington State Potato Conference and Trade Show, which is typical of the way my life goes: I always miss out on the important stuff because I've caught some kind of cold.

The instance which still leaves the largest mark on my soul is a teddy bear picnic in the first grade, when everyone was going to get to bring in their favorite bear to class and eat with them.

My bear guest was Baby Bear, a stuffed bear long worn by love and kept together by sheer will, which I still have today. Anyone who's read or watched the video of "The Velveteen Rabbit" will understand when I say Baby Bear's alive because of the amount of love he's received over the years.

Anyone who scoffs has no heart and is not worth my time.

But, alas, Baby Bear and I were not able to make that first grade engagement due to illness.

Of course, he forgave me as I lay in bed disappointed, sniffling and listening to the radio. That's what teddy bears are for.

Still, that picnic stands out as the prime example of a life cut down in its prime by illness, time and again.

That's what it feels like, sometimes, although I do try to appreciate the periods of time in between when I actually am healthy and free to do anything without emitting a hacking cough or sharing some communicable disease.

You know, those periods of time when I am able to leave the comfort of my bed or my couch without clutching for something to help maintain my balance or without a box of tissues at the ready.

Those all too brief days when I can actually breathe through my nose! How fleeting they seem! How I miss them when they're gone.

But - and this is the point when we can tell Matthew's beginning to feel better - I shall rise up once again. I shall breathe in and out through my nostrils. And I shall find the person or persons responsible for making me feel this way …

And when I do, Baby Bear and I will have our revenge.