Living the Fictional Dream

I saw on Google today that it’s Paddington Bear’s 50th birthday. I loved Paddington Bear when I was a kid. I liked him so much more than silly old Winnie the Pooh — though, I think that might be because I never was a fan of the Disneyfied version of WtP. If the “classic” Pooh stuff that you see today had been available when I was young, I might have liked WtP more.

Of course, WtP didn’t have that romantic association of being lost at Paddington station. Paddington also seemed special because he had a real family in the “real world,” whereas WtP lived in an imaginary world.

Thinking about Paddington made me think about some of the other picture books I loved. I’ve talked at length on this blog about childhood books and Y/A books, but I’ve never really talked about picture books, which are an important element of childhood reading all their own.

When I stayed at my grandmother’s house as a little girl (my Mimi), I used to beg her to read me stories. She had quite a collection of Golden Books to choose from. I loved “The Pokey Little Puppy,” “The Saggy, Baggy Lion,” and all the other classics. She also had Babar the Elephant books, which I loved.

Two of my favorites, though, I’ve never seen in a regular store. I don’t know if they were really old, like from the 50s when my mom was a girl, or if they just weren’t actually Golden Books (I seem to remember that they were, though, I could be wrong).

One of them was called (I think) “Harry Goes to Lollipop Land.” It was this funny story of a little boy who goes to Lollipop Land where everything is made out of candy. Talk about a dream for a little kid, right? And the pictures were great — I totally wanted to go outside and find a tree made out of lollipops to snack on!

The other one I loved was the story of the easter bunny. I don’t remember the title now. The main character was a bunny — I think he was called “Grandpa Bunny,” but the details are hazy. I remember all these pictures of the bunny painting these beautiful Easter eggs to give to all the good little girls and boys. Every year, the eggs got more and more intricate. Then he trained all his children and his children’s children to carry on the work, and Grandpa Bunny moved on to painting flowers, tree leaves, and other colorful portions of nature. I remember a great image of him painting blue shadows in the snow. At the end of the story, Grandpa Bunny essentially dies, but they don’t call it that in the book. He leaves Earth and takes a new job painting sunsets in the sky, so every time you see a beautiful sunset, you should remember that Grandpa Bunny painted it just for you.

I would love to try my hand at writing a picture book one day. I actually have a little story written that would make a good Christmas picture book. And I think that “A Castle in the Clouds” might also translate well to that medium. Sadly, I can’t draw for squat! Hmmm…