9. Dear Imagination

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Dear Imagination

Well. We’ve gotten ourselves into a fair amount of trouble over the years, haven’t we? The early years in particular were a little wild. I kind of liked you back then though, as crazy and rebellious as you were. I’ve noticed that since the children came along you’ve become a little sinister. A little less Hey, imagine if the rocks at Scorching Bay Beach came alive at night and there was a whole village of rock people down there that nobody knew about –  and a little more Oh gosh, imagine if Ben got hit by a car. Or if he wandered off into the bush and got lost, or – fell of a cliff! How would I survive? Imagine his funeral. Would we bury him with Puppy?

Yes. I’ve actually lain awake thinking exactly that. I’ve cried over it. More than once.

I like to think that we all have our own unique imaginations but they all belong to the same family. My imagination isn’t Ben’s (and I’m quietly thankful about that – there is a limit to how many military-themed robots and video game characters I wish to think about) and my daughter’s imagination isn’t mine. It’s like a big extended family of creativity and dreams and we all get member of that family when we’re born. Just for us.

Imagination, I’m pretty happy I got you. I know people who were either given a very timid member of the imagination family, or they’re not very good listeners. Often they’ll say they’re “not creative”. I think we’re all creative in our own ways. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that humans have a need to create.

As far as lifelong buddies go, you’re not bad at all. There was that patch in the mid 2000s where we ignored one another for a bit – babies will do that – but there’s one thing I will say about you and that is you’re loyal. If I need you – if I call you, you’re always there. Always. I like to think of you sitting in the corner of my mind somewhere, maybe knitting a scarf or reading a book with your glasses perched on the end of your nose. You have an ear out, waiting for me to call. As soon as I’m ready, you jump up and meet me half way with a grin on your face that says, Let’s play.

Since this is a love letter, I’ll end with five things I adore about you.

  1. I love that you give me fleshed out, real, three dimensional characters for my books. Thanks for Morris in particular. I wasn’t sure about the beard at first, but you were right as always.
  2. I love your eye for colour and pattern. The way you can look at a piece of fabric and immediately see it transformed into an item of clothing is very cool.
  3. I love the way you come alive when we travel. Let’s try to do that more.
  4. I love how brave you are. And how bossy. I know Fear is pretty rowdy at times. It’s great that you don’t let her win.
  5. Lastly, I love that you’re infinite. There is no beginning and no end to you. You harbour as many stories, as many homemade clothes, as many anythings as I dare to create.

Thanks imagination! See you tomorrow.

(And by tomorrow, I mean after 8am, please. I know you have no sense of time, but 3 in the morning is no time for playing games.)

 

 

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