Perhaps it is the hippie’s spiritual nature that leads him or her to enthusiastically imagine that all inanimate objects have feelings. Is it hard to believe that a bulletin board can have a soul? If you are a hippie, the answer is no.
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When I was a kid, I named everything around me: my bed, all my necklaces, the Doug firs by the bus stop, the Holly bush in our side yard. I once had a deflated bicycle tire that I had found on the road in Key West, and I cared for it all summer. His name was Hank. Although I have mostly weaned myself of this habit as an adult, my boyfriend and I had a window we called William until quite recently. William was replaced by a prettier window and taken away on a neighborhood clean-up day. It was very sad.