I found this photo several years ago, framed it and have it at eye level at my desk. It is my bunny in our family home in San Francisco. How my dad managed to get away with chickens, bunnies, dogs and roosters in an upscale neighborhood in the City is beyond me. And that my mom allowed the bunny in the house, well, who would ever need a blankie?
In the background, I see the old heavy drapes in the dining room and recognize the formal dining room chair from a long ago era. It is a blessing I am in a dress or I would have been mistaken for a boy. I had barely any hair until I was four and then it came in full force. We had a helper named Catherine. She was from Jamaica and put bear grease in my hair to help it grow. It worked.
Catherine would let us sleep over at her house on weekends and take us to the Baptist church on Sunday dressed up in lace edged sox and white dress up shoes. We sat as the ladies, adorned in hats and gloves, wailed and praised the Lord with hands in the air and thunderous voices.
This old photo brings me back to a time when things were easy and slow. I had time to feel the fur and suck my thumb when the mood would strike. It was a time when a simple little dress, starched and ironed was all one needed to feel fancy. No bows, no jewelry, no accessories.
Just Bunny and me.