Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Same bunny, different day

The train whistle blows. The echo follows, soft and far away.

And I am back to the comfort of my routine.

I usually take Airport Road to the train station. It’s a zippy, winding little stretch with no lights and very little traffic.

Plus, there’s this bunny eating breakfast every morning alongside the road.

I like bunnies.
When I was very little, my parents taught me how to call rabbits to our backyard.

It’s true.

I’d yell “Quee! Quee!” at the top of my lungs and like clockwork, the bunnies would come to visit.

I know what you’re thinking: “Well THAT certainly explains a lot.”

Nah, my parents were just very creative and fun loving with my brother and me.

It was much, much later we realized that the rabbits only came close enough to dine in our big vegetable garden.

It might sound silly, but to me it’s a classic childhood memory.

Because when you grow up with parents like mine – who remind you almost daily that you can do anything you set your mind to – even calling the bunnies over for a visit is possible.
I am reading: The Teachings of Buddha
I am listening to: Tom Petty – American Girl
And I am: Grateful


Anonymous said...

I had similar experiences, but a little later in life.

When I was in college, we'd drive up to Wisconsin.
I didn't even have to raise my voice to call the bunnies.
I'd just pull out a $20 bill, and they'd hop right over and
serve me drinks and rub my neck and sit on my lap.

You've never seen such gorgeous tame bunnies as they
used to have at the Playboy Club...cute bunny ears and soft little tails!

I sure do miss them.