Earlier this year, after my husband’s death, I went to the mortuary on business. As I was leaving, I mentioned that now that I am living alone, I find myself talking to inanimate objects around the house. The man who had been assisting me laughed and opined, “that isn’t a problem unless they answer you!”

Well, you can all relax; none of the inanimate objects have answered me. But recently, I’ve pondered that situation and have a modest proposal to suggest to the Lord.

In addition to the usual apologies to a table I run into with a vacuum cleaner, I always try to be polite to the inanimate objects and animals that share the house with me.

There is both a concrete rabbit named Beatrix and a metal guard dog, named Anthony, that keep watch for me.  (Aside, Anthony is currently at the dog hospital, getting repainted.) Also, several dozen stuffed animals grew up with me or were gifts, or in one case,  bought this year, while some belonged to others before me. (Aside, Peter, the penguin was purchased this year. The cocktail muddler was assisting him with balance. Flopsy, the bunny, was a gift to me along with some beautiful tulips this last Easter.)

People created these creatures. Human brains conceived them. Human hands cast them in concrete or metal, then painted them, or human hands cut out the material and sewed them together, adding eyes and ears, tails and paws, and sometimes making them clothes. In the case of Raggedy Ann, human hands added a stitched-on heart.

I regularly talk to them; most of them live upstairs in the Rialto Theatre, and whenever time allows, we watch movies together. They seem to enjoy their new seating arrangement in the family cradle made for my daughter.

My modest proposal to the Lord is that in the Kingdom of Heaven, He breathes life into even the little inanimate creatures much loved by little (and not so little) people of the world so that they too can share in conversations, making them no longer one-sided.