*

It occurs to me that if the story of Turnip had taken place when I was a child, of maybe seven or eight years old, I might have become one of those people that really believes that whatever you wish for will come to you. I'm not saying this in a woeful way, because I appreciate my life right now-- but imagine what your world would be if you were a child, and you wished the perfect creature would show up on your doorstep to fill a void in your life, and it did. You would think, if you build it, they will come; if you can dream it, you can be it, etc. As I'm typing, Turnip is lightly patting my one finger with her tiny little paw. I was going to end this by saying that it's kind of a shame that I didn't get this kind of lesson in optimistic "believe in the world" experience during my more formative years, but actually, maybe it's better that this happened after years of protective cynicism, and in the same summer that something else pretty important showed up at my doorstep.

-Karen