Monday, September 17, 2007

Eternity In Our Hearts

A friend of mine and I go to the psychic fair every year, one held in a big sports expo center so instead of basketball, there are tables offering everything from aura photographs (mine is bright gold -- I have a picture -- I would have guessed black, but alas no) to energy work. I love to look at the belly dancing costumes (never would I purchase one, but I like the idea of it), touch all the crystal balls and stones. I have one on my desk right now which is an opalite, said to foster love, passion, loyalty and faithfulness. I bought because I liked the color, which changes depending on the light, a beautiful translucent globe. Sometimes I imagine I can see things in it, about the future of which I am fearful, about the past that still haunts. But my favorite part of the fair is looking for a psychic. My friend and I cruise the stations at least three times before we settle on someone. Pick the one that looks the craziest, he says. The very most nuts! I agree -- this is probably as good a strategy as any. I used to use it to pick men to date which meant, if nothing else, I'd never be bored.

Years ago, I was going through an incredibly painful protracted break-up, the kind that breaks your heart, kills your spirit, and means that you'll lose at least half of your books in the division of things. I picked a psychic that year whose speciality was reading animal teeth, claws, and cards. Next to her cardboard table sat a Raggedy Ann doll that had been painted black with shoe polish and had pins stuck all over her. The woman herself was enormous and her dreads were coming unravelled. I knew I had my psychic as soon as I passed her. I told her about my situation -- things were bad and I didn't have time to dilly dally with someone telling me that I'd been Cleopatra in a past life or that I was going to have two children with the man of my dreams. She gave me a potion which I still have. The instructions were clear -- two drops a day into something he was drinking for two weeks. This should ease the transition, she said. Still, it will pretty much suck, or so the animal teeth indicated. She pointed to the throw. It didn't look like anything to me. Nothing did at that point. I thanked her for her time and took my bottle. She told me it wouldn't taste like anything, and it didn't. I drank it myself, little by little.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
“They're on edge, disquieted, off balance. What a short time we're on this Earth.” David Chase

Cocktail Hour
Drinking memoir suggestion: Rescuing Patty Hearst Virginia Holman

Benedictions and Maledictions
Congratulations to The Sopranos for their wins -- writing, directing, and best show! Of course, I think all the actors should have won, especially Mr. James Gandolfini, but I'm happy for the top honors! Happy Monday!


rodney Dangerfield said...

I've just been reminded to get some milk, if you know what I mean.

James Spader said...

I stole from the mafia. Ha, Ha, Ha!

Charles Gramlich said...

I was always more entranced by the reading of natural materials than of cards. The throwing of bones is particularly salient.

Sister Peter Marie said...

I loved Sally Fields in The Flying Nun.

Whitey the Bear said...

Women want me. Fish fear me. I should get an Emmy. Love those salmon! Grouchie is cool.

Cheri said...

I've been wanting to see one forever! I'm going for my birthday so this should be interesting..

Joe said...

Wow... great photo.

the walking man said...

What is a psychic anyway? A person who for a few dollars will try to hit a nail on the head for you, but half the time just leaves a dent in the wood, from a complete miss?

I don't know about psychics, and had a tarot thrown for me once that I was told after the first three cards it was unreadable, this from a Wiccan who'd been playing those cards well over twenty years.

So I don't know about people being able to touch eternity for someone else because it seems to me that is the only way you would be able to see forward into time.

But I do know that deep in the swamps there are rumors of a witch with a glass eye and if you look into it you will see the reflection of how you die.

Damn witch where is she when ya really need her.



Pikey said...

i like going to be reintroduced to all of the Shell Silverstein books- they always seem to be available at these type of things

Ugis said...

One of these days, somebody is going to beat me retarded with a billy club, and then write a best selling novel about it while serving a minimum of jail time.

The proceeds of the novel will go to a scholarship.

The novel will be called:
"This Little Pinka Went Wee Wee Wee, All The Way Home"

ugis p said...

Maybe they'll just break my hands, and still serve a minimum of jail time.

That would be a travesty. Then I couldn't be witty every day on your blog, making rodney dangerfield comments, soprano comments, or be able to sexually harass you, Michelle, or students of either sex, as is my predilection. Or make racist remarks, such as I do all the time.

Wow, I am a doosh. I gurgle with it, and became one over time.

I guess I am what I eat!

No... That would be feces.

eric1313 said...

It sucks when they weasel a bunch of your books.

That's the worst, outside of the emotional anguish. Funny, I like psychics, and listen to what they have to say, then cease believing it as soon as I walk away.

I'd rather believe there's no destiny except for that which we choose. Some things are meant to be, and some things are not. Probably a mix of fate and chance, you know?

Is it possible somebody hates your stalker more than we do? The plot thickens, like the skull of JL Seagull/the doosh.

But not quite that thick.