It's a story about properly taking care of your stuff, about learning to let go of stuff that's really not all that important, about not obsessing over material things, about body image, about growing up, about the inevitable, about fears... It's a story about a lot of things. Finding and re-reading "The Pobble Who Has No Toes" put to rest a hazy memory that's tugged at my mind for many, many years. I'm glad I found it & I think it's destined to become one of my favorite Silly Poems (ranking right up there with Shel Silverstein's "Too Many Kids in this Tub"). Last week, on May 12, there passed little-remarked the birthdayof Edward Lear (1812–1888). And we should not let pass entirely the opportunity to say something about a man who must surely count as one of the most interesting and peculiar figures to live in the Victorian age — and that’s saying something, for the Victorians were as interestingly peculiar a people as the world has ever known. Nearly 30 years later I finally found the poem that's eluded for me for so long--quite by accident too. In reading it, I was happy to discover that still has the element of wierdness I remember. But now the whole story is fully-formed in my mind where, before, there was only a brief corner-of-the-eye-type glimpse that was accompanied by a nagging need to remember more.