The fragrance of fresh bread, and the Bunny Dance.

Good morning.

As most of you know, I do most of my living in the dark. Some people could realistically argue that I've lived MOST of my life in the dark, and who would I be to disagree, but that's not my point.

Sometimes I feel like James Michener, who starts all of his books at the beginning of the universe. Blah blah blah.

It's amazing, when you live in the early morning hours of the day, where your mind will go and what stories will emerge from the calcified remains of your memory...the kind of memory that hits so hard that it literally stops you in your tracks.

It began with the scent of doughnuts. I had stopped by the local 24 hour market, and they start the baking process around that time, and the parking lot was overwhelmed with the scent of doughnuts. And that took me warping back to my dear old college days.

In Marquette, Michigan, in the days of my youth, there was a bread bakery for a regional bread maker called Bunny Bread. And, in the early morning hours, if the atmosphere was just right, the comforting fragrance of baking bread would waft lovingly over the city....but the really cool part of the whole Bunny Bread experience was the HUGE neon sign on the side of the building.

Now, the memories segue a bit right here......to a night of debauchery at a local watering hole called The Cabaret...it's gone now, as well, but it was basically a bar with a dance floor and a DJ booth in the corner....and the drinks were cheap and they almost never checked the ID's so, DRINK ON!

Well, one night, after a marathon session, we closed the place down...it was Ed, and Marty, and I. And Marty was....well, happy would be putting it mildly; he was more like Bambi when Thumper makes his observation, "He's a little wobbly, ain't he?" Marty was....wobbly. And happy. And Ed and I had him by the arms as we dragged him out, singing the old songs and laughing like idiots.

Now, the street outside of the bar was one way, and we were crossing that street when a car came toward us. So, Ed went forward and I went back.

And there we were, going in opposite directions, still holding Marty's arms, so it looked to the driver as if we were sacrificing our friend to the Gods of Chrysler.

Well, needless to say, that image tickled us greatly as we unwisely got into the car, and headed home. And as we headed down the road, we rolled down the windows and inhaled the wonder of freshly baked bread from the Bunny Bread factory, and at that moment, Marty, semi-conscious in the back seat of Ed's black Pinto (which we lovingly referred to as the Ford Fireball) invented the dance that we forever referred to as The Bunny.

You can do it sitting, or standing, or dancing, if you have a mind to.

You put your hands in the air above your head. Those are your Bunny Ears. And, in a rhythm, you move them from above your head to the side of your head, mimicking the movement of the sign.



Yeah, I'm not sure what brought it up. Maybe I'm missing Ed a bit. We lost him four years ago last week.



But I gots the memories. And I'll fight anybody who tries to take them away.