I like to pretend that I may (if I could move quicker than magic could) catch Zelda in the most beautiful ball gown having tea with all of Derek’s brilliant fishes. They would be sitting around our table on velvet cushions eating cucumber and salmon sandwiches and sipping Earl Gray. The fat orange fish would say through fishy bubbles, “Please, do pass the cream.” And Zelda would grasp the delicate pitcher with her thick furry paw and slide it towards him. And the black fish with all those blue polka dots would say (in an operatic voice) that “the weather truly is lovely—a perfect day for a swim!” Around the table I would hear fish voices and Zelda’s meowing cat voice as they discussed us (their owners—their personal bitches) and how life in the tank is (for the fishes) and Zelda’s new burgundy lace ball gown with the puffed sleeves. They would laugh as they ate all the contents of our refrigerator.
I like to imagine this. Or Zelda sitting on the edge of the fish tank in blue denim over-all’s (no undershirt—just her fur popping out) clutching a little wooden stick fashioned into a fishing pole. Beside her, she has a lunch pail of catnip and bread (which awaits one of those gorgeous fish to sandwich).
This is the power of the imagination. Anything can happen. Anything. In a single moment I can grow wings—my hair can turn pink, my skin blue—and I can be in the era of the Jetsons (only my robot will be named Wilbur and not Rosie). Or I can be crossing the Oregon Trail, battling scurvy and hunger and the utter wildness of the unknown. I can be an actress in Paris in the 1920’s—traveling Europe with my chaperon—spending money I haven’t yet made.
Imagination in the most amazing gift that we have been given. In a single moment, my brain can take me anywhere; I can travel the world. I can travel thru time. And I feel so fortunate that this has been given to us and that I have let my mind be wild—my imagination roam free. And so I want to say thank you to whatever entity created us—thank you for the power of the imagination. And thank you (again) to my mother, who taught me to cultivate and grow my own imagination.