The Things that are Alive (or Ode to Daddy Bunny)

A bit of a continuation on a previous entry. Thinking about Daddy Bunny's being mad at me, and about the fantastic world of not taking yourself too seriously, I also thought about how our memories are associated with things. No, the things aren't breathing. We don't really think they move on their own, though sometimes everyone claims "I didn't touch it!" But those memories are very alive. We see them and we feel them when we look at or touch some "thing".

Daddy Bunny is 17 years of memories. A lot of very powerful memories, not all good, not all bad. So, if Daddy Bunny's mad at me, then I must be mad at me, a memory has been dis-serviced. Somehow, I am not being true to me. And it his own way, as a representative of all these powerful life experiences, Daddy Bunny tells me this.

Any one piece of scrap on his may not have been there. I know, for example, the yellow cotton that makes up most of his pants was not there 'til after Africa. But as the entity 'Daddy Bunny', he was there. And it is this entity that holds my memories and lets me connect with my past. That's why he's important. That's why he's more than stuffing and scraps. And that's why I love him; he represents my experiences. When I hug him, my life is hugging me back.

Shout out to Timmy Bear!

and Mommy, somehow this post has really made me miss Whiskey :(

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