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!