Dearest Patspaw,

Cast not thy aspersions upon my velveteen dulcimer. I love it all the more for having its fur rubbed off and missing one eye. All available fairy tail philosophy supports my preference for the sister who tended the cinders because she was not as lovely as her siblings, the wooden creation who longed to be a real boy, the ugly duckling....

I am not waiting for something better to come along, I have found the hammered dulcimer of my heart and would trade her for no other. One day I'd love to see the instruments which represent the work you're most proud of, I am sure they are magnificent pieces. But none could be more precious to me than the one little hands have happily explored, the one that has made music in the rain and snow and bounced on a gurney for 3,000 miles to find its way to me.

I will tell those to whom I show her off, that she is not the prime example of her makers craft. But that will be a tiny footnote to the story of how she, and you, came into our life.

She, and the music she makes, will always remind me of the friends and loved ones like her. Those who didn't come out exactly as we wished they had, but we love them anyway. Those who didn't get the best breaks when they started out, but their cracks and lack of finish don't prevent them from being wonderful in their way. We're aware of their flaws, but in the end they're the ones we can trust at our side in all kinds of weather. When we realize how good they've been to us, we may wish we'd spent more time on them, helping them be their best. But sooner or later we figure out that the things we love most in them are wrapped up in who they are, not in how close they came to perfection. At least that's how I want to be loved.

I guess I'm getting pretty sappy here, but I'm dead dog serious about my love for this instrument, exactly as it is. Maybe BECAUSE of how it is. And I wouldn't change a wrinkle or a crack or a day of her history. Or ours.

Warmly yours,

Pamela