Harvey and Me

Happy Easter!  Truth be told, I’m writing today primarily to show off my Bunnies, ‘cause  I can’t think of a more appropriate time.


2006 CGS Painting

Last year at this time, I was ebaying-off part of my seashell collection in order to pay the rent.  Right after that, I learned that I’d been approved for Uncle Sam’s Supplemental Security Income program, a flexible stipend based on my current earnings, which at the moment is about nil.  It's tough for American artists to compete with third-world-wage originals and foreign knock-offs; indeed, the majority of my website hits have been from China.



Think of this the next time you hear a politician make disparaging remarks about welfare recipients.  Too many of our pseudo-middle-class have fallen down the socio-economic ladder, pushing those of us already on the bottom rungs…off?  Let me remind you:

$690 a month is not exactly living the lap of luxury, but compared to what I was earning as an artist, I'm thrilled.

But back to the Easter Bunny.  I don’t have kids, and chose to avoid them most of my adult life; especially babies.  Therefore, I don’t really know what they’re capable of doing, when.  Nor do I baby-speak; if they don’t understand me, I don’t much care.  One example comes to mind:

At a friend’s dinner party, one guest, a man of the cloth, was responding to some remark at length.  A toddler asked his Mother,

“How come he knows so much?”

Before she got a chance to answer, I said,

“Because it’s his job.”  I figured that was the quickest way to shut him up, and he was satisfied.

My natural aversion to children is a recurring theme for me.  But I’ve made up (I hope) for my inadequacy by instructing.  Odd; I have enormous patience for my students, whereas I drowned my own at birth.

I mention this because I had an interesting time yesterday watching two little girls furiously search the grounds for 10 clues to the Easter Bunny.  Despite my warning that the second footprint might not count (just in case pint-sized Harvey didn’t appear), by evening they swore they’d seen him.  I tried to pin them down for more details, but they easily confounded me.  What I hadn't realized was that they'd become glued to my side until I gently shook them loose.  I didn’t want to spoil it, but there are limits to my patience.

Odd, I never before considered the Easter Bunny might be a She.  Or perhaps Mrs. Bunny is home, pouring chocolate into all those molds, letting her hubby take all the chances with neighborhood dogs and grabby little hands.  Smart.  How ‘come that story hasn’t been written?  Oh, damn!  Gave away another idea.  If it hasn’t been already and it is in the future, remember…you heard it here first!