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Sixteen months ago, flinching from market losses, my husband and I decided to diversify our portfolio with some lake view property north of Knoxville.  We found a gorgeous lot and hired a builder to construct a home there.  It has been an interesting (though painfully long) process to watch.  We’re building on the side of a ridge, so the construction process has been tedious.  But the views of Norris Lake are a worthy payoff.
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I have always been a fan of Winnie the Pooh stories.  Milne was a genius at Capturing the Beauty of Friendship in its simplest, purest form.  My father used to read Pooh stories to me, and for our first Valentine’s Day as a married couple, my husband gifted me the complete collection in one volume. My grandfather, Mac, was so taken with the stories during one visit to my house that I bought him the same volume, which I later read to him on his deathbed in January of 2008. He would squeeze my hand and chuckle from time to time, and after the last story he faded away.

I say this to explain that I am Intimately Familiar with the original tales of Winnie the Pooh and the characters that comprise them.  In fact, I could even be considered an expert.  Although I have seen the newer versions of Pooh and have peripherally watched with my daughter the Super Sleuths cartoon on Disney, I’m not sure who Darby is or what she did with Christopher Robin. Because I am a Classic Pooh lover.
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