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Chocolate, Daisy and The Mouse
Apr. 2nd, 2006 09:52 pmWe went to the Purdy's Chocolate Factory today for their annual open house. About the open house, suffice to say: Purdy's makes excellent chocolate, chocolate factories smell wonderful, and chocolate makers aren't generally public speakers.
While standing in line to get into the factory, we watched the marketing efforts of a local dairy, who had sent a woman in a farmer costume and a person in a cow costume – Daisy. They were there to entertain the children with the usual silliness: What noise does a cow make? Who knows where milk comes from? Everyone dance like Daisy!
Daisy made me think of going to Disney.
I am about seven or eight years old. I cling to a belief in Santa Claus, against my emerging common sense. I know – really know, deep in my gut – that the Disney characters are just people in suits, but that doesn't make them any less mystical.
I have a mental list of the ones I absolutely must see in order to make my trip feel complete. Surprisingly, though I am a girly-girl, I do not have any of the princesses on my list. The list isn't very long, either, consisting of Goofy, the dwarves from Snow White, Thumper, and, most importantly, Mickey Mouse. My vacation would absolutely not be satisfying if I didn't see Mickey Mouse.
Three days in Disney, and I gradually check each character off my mental list, except for Mickey Mouse.
Every time we find one of the big colourful suits, my Mom urges me to go up to them and get my picture taken with them. She thinks I'm shy, or scared and overwhelmed by the oversized creatures like some of the younger kids are.
I don't know how to explain that I just want to see the characters. I don't want to touch them, or talk to them, or get my picture taken with them. I just want to see them, file that picture away in my head, then check them off my mental list. From a distance, from outside the clinging group of children, I see the wonder of them, and I don't see the costume seams. They are real, like Santa, as long as you don't look too close.
Mom gets me close and we take the pictures. I see that the mouth is a screen, and the eyes are flat plastic, and what I know is true – in my gut – is now also true in front of my eyes. It doesn't crush me, for I already knew this about them, but it isn't satisfying to see them this way. I don't feel the magic.
On the last day, I am empty and despondent: we never managed to find Mickey Mouse. We climb on the tram to head out of the park. My sister and I have window seats, one in front of the other, one next to each parent. Suddenly, as the tram begins to move down the street, she squeals excitedly and points out the window: Mickey!
He is about half a block away, surrounded by little kids pawing for his hands, bouncing excitedly, posing for pictures. The tram passes by slowly, getting no closer then ten meters to The Mouse and his entourage of fans.
Mickey Mouse is magical. I don't see the costume, I see the beloved character of my Sunday nights in front of the Wonderful World of Disney.
To this day, Mickey Mouse is untainted. He is still real to me.
Unfortunately, I cannot believe in Daisy the cow.
While standing in line to get into the factory, we watched the marketing efforts of a local dairy, who had sent a woman in a farmer costume and a person in a cow costume – Daisy. They were there to entertain the children with the usual silliness: What noise does a cow make? Who knows where milk comes from? Everyone dance like Daisy!
Daisy made me think of going to Disney.
I am about seven or eight years old. I cling to a belief in Santa Claus, against my emerging common sense. I know – really know, deep in my gut – that the Disney characters are just people in suits, but that doesn't make them any less mystical.
I have a mental list of the ones I absolutely must see in order to make my trip feel complete. Surprisingly, though I am a girly-girl, I do not have any of the princesses on my list. The list isn't very long, either, consisting of Goofy, the dwarves from Snow White, Thumper, and, most importantly, Mickey Mouse. My vacation would absolutely not be satisfying if I didn't see Mickey Mouse.
Three days in Disney, and I gradually check each character off my mental list, except for Mickey Mouse.
Every time we find one of the big colourful suits, my Mom urges me to go up to them and get my picture taken with them. She thinks I'm shy, or scared and overwhelmed by the oversized creatures like some of the younger kids are.
I don't know how to explain that I just want to see the characters. I don't want to touch them, or talk to them, or get my picture taken with them. I just want to see them, file that picture away in my head, then check them off my mental list. From a distance, from outside the clinging group of children, I see the wonder of them, and I don't see the costume seams. They are real, like Santa, as long as you don't look too close.
Mom gets me close and we take the pictures. I see that the mouth is a screen, and the eyes are flat plastic, and what I know is true – in my gut – is now also true in front of my eyes. It doesn't crush me, for I already knew this about them, but it isn't satisfying to see them this way. I don't feel the magic.
On the last day, I am empty and despondent: we never managed to find Mickey Mouse. We climb on the tram to head out of the park. My sister and I have window seats, one in front of the other, one next to each parent. Suddenly, as the tram begins to move down the street, she squeals excitedly and points out the window: Mickey!
He is about half a block away, surrounded by little kids pawing for his hands, bouncing excitedly, posing for pictures. The tram passes by slowly, getting no closer then ten meters to The Mouse and his entourage of fans.
Mickey Mouse is magical. I don't see the costume, I see the beloved character of my Sunday nights in front of the Wonderful World of Disney.
To this day, Mickey Mouse is untainted. He is still real to me.
Unfortunately, I cannot believe in Daisy the cow.
