Do you ever wonder where your old toys ended up? I have some extremely dim memories from childhood (not that dim memories are unusual–I have dim memories of what I had for lunch yesterday) of a toy lobster that I carried around with me. I was three years old, and remember almost drowning when I dropped him in a swimming pool and went in after him. I didn’t realize lobsters can breathe underwater. I also remember my mother commenting on my knack for naming my toys. I had a stuffed seal I named Digby, and a stuffed frog I named Quincy. I have no idea where I got these names. At the risk of showing my age I named Quincy years before the show with Jack Klugman first aired, and I really don’t know where I could have heard the name Digby.
I’m going to turn off of memory lane now and take the on-ramp to the present where there’s the blog City of Sad Toys. Check it out. It’s sad, funny, and sometimes darkly sarcastic. My favorite is this one of a headless doll where the comment is, “I dunno if this gal washed in from the French Revolution or what, but this is pretty tragic.”
Occasionally I find abandoned toys when I’m out walking. Now I’m tempted to take pictures of every one. This blog also makes me think about converting to Frisbeetarianism, which is the belief that when you die your soul goes up and gets stuck on the roof.