Puppets

When I was about eight, my father had a friend of his build a small wooden puppet theater for my brother , sisters and I. He bought us a couple of puppets to go with it. There was a blond princess in  a light blue gown, a prince in a red hat and cape, a wolf, a huntsman, Red Riding Hood, a witch with a big crooked nose, and Snow White. The puppets' faces and hands were made of a soft plastic that had a lingering smell to it, and their clothes were made of a satiny fabric. On rainy summer days we would play in the cottage in our backyard, and wile away the hours acting out imaginary scenarios with the odd ensemble of characters our puppets made up. The huntsman would be a loving father, Snow White was the mom, the princess their daughter, the wolf was their pet, and even the ugly witch became a loving grandma in a pinch. I remember the thrill of getting behind the puppet stage, and putting the puppets on my hands and bringing the story to life. Sometimes the puppets would get in to arguments, and hit each other, which was always cause for excitement and laughter. Of course, we would also argue with each other, as to who got to be the prince, or wolf, or Snow White. It is a cold and very rainy day today, and having recently had a birthday, always a reminder of all the family I lost, a certain nostalgic mood brought back to mind a time when I had a brother, and two sisters and we were children together in innocence and love. There is something very compelling about a puppet. They have no control, no will, no power, until some one's hand and voice bring them to life. On difficult days, I can feel like a puppet, when the sorrow takes over, and I feel I am not in control of what happened to me. Will is what always turns that around, and the realization that I do have a loving husband of 27 years, and a wonderful 21 year old son, and some very steadfast friends, near and far. Perhaps that is why puppets mesmerize adults and children alike. They convey a certain helplessness, and also a certain magic, since it takes a set of physical steps to bring them to "life". In a way puppets and our fascination with them reveal our at times desperate attempt, full of poetry and art, to make sense of our human condition, one that is a riddle with its mortality and enigmas of war, suffering, illness, cruelty, as well as beauty, love, courage, joy and magnificence in science and the arts. Puppets are hypnotic, they intrigue us, enchant us, because when we watch them act out our own dilemmas, our own comedies and tragedies of life, we briefly believe that all will be well in the end, if we just keep laughing and crying at the right time.