I’m not a plagiarist, not on purpose. I do, however, have a great ear for a great phrase. I’ve developed a habit of paying five dollars to anyone who says something so spectacular that his or her words drive me to look for a pen so I can make note of the proffered specialness. I tell the payee that I am tendering an offer for payment of their words, which I may very well use in the future, possibly paraphrased, but that the words they used are “just that good”. I usually have witnesses to this transaction. About half of the time the cash is refused. These occasions have happened in bars, in private homes, in the operating suite and on public transportation, among others. My friends have even taken to recognizing great words and, once in awhile (when I miss a beat) have asked me, “Aren’t you going to give him five dollars for that?”
I’m going to share a few with you from this year. Some of you will recognize your own words, or you’ll recognize the stories from which these were pulled. Remember, time warps all tales.
#5. “How’s that gray working for you?” My nurse asked me this while we had a moment of downtime in clinic. She was looking at my hair. I made an appointment with my hair stylist the next day.
#4. “Oooh! Your spleen is obviously quite sick, and I think your uterus needs work, too.”
#3 “I know it’s not BYOB, but I’d rather bring my own.” I didn’t want to pay for the words, but rather for the facial gesture of eyebrows raised. That was priceless.
#2. “Everybody dance, now!” I can’t pay myself. I would if I could. This is a great sentence. It can be used as a command, a request, or a plea. It’s a wonderful icebreaker and also cuts tension in a situation like you wouldn’t believe. Try it the next time your officemates are all bitching about something and see what happens. I bet something happens.
#1. “These pants are so constricting.” These five words have provided much entertainment, complete with action sequences and the legend only grows with the retelling. I can only dream of a screenplay one day. I can only dream.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Sunday, December 28, 2008
For Your Consideration - A Baker of Pies
I've been telling my friend, Laurel, for months, "I should write a review of your pies. You're the best." This weekend she reminded me of the same. She told me to hurry up and do so.
Laurel is an accomplished cook. She is accomplished at many things. It seems that she puts her mind to something and she achieves that goal. She is bright, pretty, and I count her among my small circle of friends. She has a saucy sense of humor that is a pleasure to witness in action. This isn't about the overall package that is Laurel, though. This is about her pie-baking abilities.
I'd ask you to close your eyes and use your imagination, but you wouldn't be able to read my words. Why should you close your eyes? If your eyes were closed you'd be able to dedicate your senses - your imagination - to the textures, the tastes, the aromas of one of Laurel's creations. If your eyes were closed, I think you might get a better experience out of this little essay.
She starts with her great-grandmother's crust recipe. She tried to share it with me once, but I admit that my pie-making abilities are limited by my patience and my tendency to eyeball measurements. Laurel is a stickler for ingredients and exact quantities. She is a self-described Kitchen Whore (yes, we need capitals) and she even has measuring spoons for dashes and pinches. I know her recipe is similar to that of my own great-grandmother's, I would simply rather let Laurel do the baking.
Laurel always chooses the right filling for the right occasion. I've had her pear tart in the fall and her pumpkin pie at Christmas. She makes a beautiful peach pie in summertime. You want a lattice top? Leaves, or fluted edges? She can handle it with ease.
Now that I've given you the basics, let's get down to the real reason her pies are so good. She has the timing down to a science. She knows - she senses - when they should come out of the oven. Because of this innate knowledge, her guests can count on...
...a perfect slice with filling that yields with just the right amount of tenderness to the fork as the tines make their way to the golden crust that is at the same time, tender and flaky. This is a marriage of science and art in a Pyrex plate. Layers of crust melt in your mouth, with just a hint of saltiness, their crispness playing off of the sweetness of the filling. (This would be a great place to close your eyes.)
She comes complete with her own marble rolling pin, mixing bowls and I've seen her fill out an apron in the most fetching manner. She also insists on whipping her own cream for the pumpkin and if this doesn't convince you, imagine one more thing. Imagine sitting at the kitchen table and seeing her smiling face as she opens the freezer door and asks, "Would you like Blue Bell Vanilla Ice Cream with that peach pie?"
Laurel is an accomplished cook. She is accomplished at many things. It seems that she puts her mind to something and she achieves that goal. She is bright, pretty, and I count her among my small circle of friends. She has a saucy sense of humor that is a pleasure to witness in action. This isn't about the overall package that is Laurel, though. This is about her pie-baking abilities.
I'd ask you to close your eyes and use your imagination, but you wouldn't be able to read my words. Why should you close your eyes? If your eyes were closed you'd be able to dedicate your senses - your imagination - to the textures, the tastes, the aromas of one of Laurel's creations. If your eyes were closed, I think you might get a better experience out of this little essay.
She starts with her great-grandmother's crust recipe. She tried to share it with me once, but I admit that my pie-making abilities are limited by my patience and my tendency to eyeball measurements. Laurel is a stickler for ingredients and exact quantities. She is a self-described Kitchen Whore (yes, we need capitals) and she even has measuring spoons for dashes and pinches. I know her recipe is similar to that of my own great-grandmother's, I would simply rather let Laurel do the baking.
Laurel always chooses the right filling for the right occasion. I've had her pear tart in the fall and her pumpkin pie at Christmas. She makes a beautiful peach pie in summertime. You want a lattice top? Leaves, or fluted edges? She can handle it with ease.
Now that I've given you the basics, let's get down to the real reason her pies are so good. She has the timing down to a science. She knows - she senses - when they should come out of the oven. Because of this innate knowledge, her guests can count on...
...a perfect slice with filling that yields with just the right amount of tenderness to the fork as the tines make their way to the golden crust that is at the same time, tender and flaky. This is a marriage of science and art in a Pyrex plate. Layers of crust melt in your mouth, with just a hint of saltiness, their crispness playing off of the sweetness of the filling. (This would be a great place to close your eyes.)
She comes complete with her own marble rolling pin, mixing bowls and I've seen her fill out an apron in the most fetching manner. She also insists on whipping her own cream for the pumpkin and if this doesn't convince you, imagine one more thing. Imagine sitting at the kitchen table and seeing her smiling face as she opens the freezer door and asks, "Would you like Blue Bell Vanilla Ice Cream with that peach pie?"
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Sublimation
"Don't change."
How do I follow
the directive
given upon
discovery
of traits
thought
to be desired?
I am your
object of affection.
I am target,
intent,
plan,
and goal.
How can I not change when I
am planted in a place where
I can only grow?
To loft into the realm
of the sublime,
to transcend
the middling
surprises me not.
Watch me change.
Don't ask for less.
How do I follow
the directive
given upon
discovery
of traits
thought
to be desired?
I am your
object of affection.
I am target,
intent,
plan,
and goal.
How can I not change when I
am planted in a place where
I can only grow?
To loft into the realm
of the sublime,
to transcend
the middling
surprises me not.
Watch me change.
Don't ask for less.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Thoughts on Change, Growth, Family
"Aunt Michelle!"
It didn't make sense. A tallish young man was calling to me from across the yard. He waved and shouted again, "Aunt Michelle!"
It couldn't be. He couldn't be. I watched my nephew stride toward me in long loping steps. He grinned to see the surprise on my face. Where was my Doren? Where was the little boy who used to play tricks on me, who would never sit still? Suddenly he was right in front of me, holding me in a bear hug. He smelled of woodsmoke and flannel. He was taller than me.
"What's the matter with you?" He stepped back and looked at me as I fought back tears.
"I'm fine. I just never expected to see you this grown up."
I don't know what I expected. It had been almost four years since I'd laid eyes on him. Certainly I knew that he would change, I just never dreamed that he would change that much. We sat down by the firepit and put our feet up on the stone ledge to warm them. I waited. He didn't say much else. He pulled out his cell phone and started texting his friends. He is, after all, a teen.
My brother and I continued our conversation. I couldn't help but remember back to the days when my brother wore his own letter jacket, to the days when he would sit next to me and we wouldn't talk much. Now he was asking me about my life, confirming that I was happy, that I was safe and cared for. Funny, when he was a kid, I didn't expect to see him this grown up, either.
Thirteen of us piled into several vehicles and made our way to a Tex-Mex restaurant last night. We enjoyed a meal together, laughing and joking, sharing old memories and building new ones. It was a joy to see my brother's wife light up the room with her vibrant personality and to see my brother recognize the same. There are times when "belonging" is more difficult to define than it is to describe.
Growing up, our mother used to tell us (me and my brothers) that we could always count on each other, even if we might not be able to count on anyone or anything else. The beauty of this (I think) is that - by extension - we are able to count on the love that surrounds our families. The beauty that lies in inclusion - in familial love - simply because we love the father, or the wife, or the sister of someone who is so very special to us is a gift which tugs at my heart each time I sit with it.
Today I am grateful for a sense of belonging. I am aware that I have had many opportunities to make choices which could lead to living life in a much different manner than I do today. I am also aware that others have chosen to include me in their lives, sometimes not even fully aware of how their choices might change my life. I want to be mindful of this as I move through my days.
It didn't make sense. A tallish young man was calling to me from across the yard. He waved and shouted again, "Aunt Michelle!"
It couldn't be. He couldn't be. I watched my nephew stride toward me in long loping steps. He grinned to see the surprise on my face. Where was my Doren? Where was the little boy who used to play tricks on me, who would never sit still? Suddenly he was right in front of me, holding me in a bear hug. He smelled of woodsmoke and flannel. He was taller than me.
"What's the matter with you?" He stepped back and looked at me as I fought back tears.
"I'm fine. I just never expected to see you this grown up."
I don't know what I expected. It had been almost four years since I'd laid eyes on him. Certainly I knew that he would change, I just never dreamed that he would change that much. We sat down by the firepit and put our feet up on the stone ledge to warm them. I waited. He didn't say much else. He pulled out his cell phone and started texting his friends. He is, after all, a teen.
My brother and I continued our conversation. I couldn't help but remember back to the days when my brother wore his own letter jacket, to the days when he would sit next to me and we wouldn't talk much. Now he was asking me about my life, confirming that I was happy, that I was safe and cared for. Funny, when he was a kid, I didn't expect to see him this grown up, either.
Thirteen of us piled into several vehicles and made our way to a Tex-Mex restaurant last night. We enjoyed a meal together, laughing and joking, sharing old memories and building new ones. It was a joy to see my brother's wife light up the room with her vibrant personality and to see my brother recognize the same. There are times when "belonging" is more difficult to define than it is to describe.
Growing up, our mother used to tell us (me and my brothers) that we could always count on each other, even if we might not be able to count on anyone or anything else. The beauty of this (I think) is that - by extension - we are able to count on the love that surrounds our families. The beauty that lies in inclusion - in familial love - simply because we love the father, or the wife, or the sister of someone who is so very special to us is a gift which tugs at my heart each time I sit with it.
Today I am grateful for a sense of belonging. I am aware that I have had many opportunities to make choices which could lead to living life in a much different manner than I do today. I am also aware that others have chosen to include me in their lives, sometimes not even fully aware of how their choices might change my life. I want to be mindful of this as I move through my days.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
All I Want is More. Forever.
Yesterday I received a package. So it's Christmastime and that shouldn't be unusual. I didn't recognize the sender, but the package was one of those cute little padded manila numbers. I could feel the bubble wrap inside and I opened the envelope before I tackled the mound of mail that had accumulated while I'd been out of town on vacation.
Well. A surprise. To be sure.
I have some stepsiblings that I no longer see, or speak to. There's really no animosity, it's more that our parents aren't married to each other anymore. One of those long-ago stepsisters sent me a CD, and a note. She thought I might want to have an audio recording of my mother's voice. She (the stepsister) had found an old cassette tape and converted it over to CD. The note said she hoped I might "find comfort".
Well. I wasn't expecting that.
I played it this morning. My mother apparently taped herself preparing for a sales training meeting. She was a manager for a large cosmetics company and she held meetings quite often. I remember that she'd be out late a lot of nights and would come home exhausted, even when she was going through chemotherapy the first time.
I sat on the couch this morning and listened to her. At first it didn't sound like her. She was certainly reading from a script. She talked about commissions and boosting sales. She talked about bonuses of pressure cookers and 8-track tape players.
And then. And then I heard her say it. "Bye!" A door shut in the background. She was saying goodbye to someone, one of her children as they left the house. The way she said it, the way she stopped in mid-sentence to acknowledge a child...
8 minutes. That's all there was. 8 minutes of my mother's voice. I'm doing fine after hearing it. I'm not sad. I'm not distraught. I'm simply wanting of more. It's what I've wanted all along - just more. All I want is forever.
Well. A surprise. To be sure.
I have some stepsiblings that I no longer see, or speak to. There's really no animosity, it's more that our parents aren't married to each other anymore. One of those long-ago stepsisters sent me a CD, and a note. She thought I might want to have an audio recording of my mother's voice. She (the stepsister) had found an old cassette tape and converted it over to CD. The note said she hoped I might "find comfort".
Well. I wasn't expecting that.
I played it this morning. My mother apparently taped herself preparing for a sales training meeting. She was a manager for a large cosmetics company and she held meetings quite often. I remember that she'd be out late a lot of nights and would come home exhausted, even when she was going through chemotherapy the first time.
I sat on the couch this morning and listened to her. At first it didn't sound like her. She was certainly reading from a script. She talked about commissions and boosting sales. She talked about bonuses of pressure cookers and 8-track tape players.
And then. And then I heard her say it. "Bye!" A door shut in the background. She was saying goodbye to someone, one of her children as they left the house. The way she said it, the way she stopped in mid-sentence to acknowledge a child...
8 minutes. That's all there was. 8 minutes of my mother's voice. I'm doing fine after hearing it. I'm not sad. I'm not distraught. I'm simply wanting of more. It's what I've wanted all along - just more. All I want is forever.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Decking the Halls
There is a yearly contest in our department. I have no idea what the winners receive. It's a holiday door decorating contest. Last year the theme was "Holidays Through the Eyes of a Child". I made a Dr. Seuss-ian fireplace and hung stockings. I asked each of my colleagues to bring in a photo of themselves as kids. It was a lot of fun. We didn't win any prizes, but we bonded a little and had a good time looking at our pictures.
This year the theme is, "Musical Holiday Memories". For some reason I decided to put Elvis Presley all over our door with blue snowflakes. It's a Blue Christmas. It's weird. I know this. I really, really doubt we'll win anything, but we got a lot of comments today, especially about sexy Santa Elvis peeking around the corner of our office door.
There weren't any decorations on our hallway until I put ours up, then suddenly there was a flurry of activity on our corridor. The secretaries don't have doors, so they can adopt a door of someone who isn't likely to decorate. Just such a thing happened with my boss who came storming out of his office this afternoon. I happened to be standing nearby when he bellowed, "Hey! Who is this girl on my door?"
His secretary ran around the corner. She and I both started laughing immediately. I had tears streaming down my face as she explained it to him. She pointed out the two turtle doves, part of "The Twelve Days of Christmas". The girl on his door was Danny Partridge...in a pear tree.
This year the theme is, "Musical Holiday Memories". For some reason I decided to put Elvis Presley all over our door with blue snowflakes. It's a Blue Christmas. It's weird. I know this. I really, really doubt we'll win anything, but we got a lot of comments today, especially about sexy Santa Elvis peeking around the corner of our office door.
There weren't any decorations on our hallway until I put ours up, then suddenly there was a flurry of activity on our corridor. The secretaries don't have doors, so they can adopt a door of someone who isn't likely to decorate. Just such a thing happened with my boss who came storming out of his office this afternoon. I happened to be standing nearby when he bellowed, "Hey! Who is this girl on my door?"
His secretary ran around the corner. She and I both started laughing immediately. I had tears streaming down my face as she explained it to him. She pointed out the two turtle doves, part of "The Twelve Days of Christmas". The girl on his door was Danny Partridge...in a pear tree.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Let It Snow.
It's snowing in Houston. Cross my holiday season heart and hope to run out of hot chocolate. It's snowing. I received a text message this afternoon - around 4:30, asking me if it was snowing at my place. It wasn't...yet. I'd had an extraordinarily lazy day. I'd enjoyed a massage and I'd taken a nap. I'd only been paged twice and had dispatched the inquiries with ease. (I love my Wednesdays.) I continued my leisurely pace, finished getting dressed and pulled on my wool cap, leather jacket and boots and headed downstairs to my car. I needed to do a little shopping.
Tiny orbs of sleet greeted me. They bounced off the cars and the parking lot with pings! and tings! and I laughed out loud. "Really? Sleet?"
The pavement was wet but wasn't icy, so I continued out onto the city streets. Oh. My. God.
Houston drivers need to just stop and - well GO! Gridlock met me in the Med Center. The streets weren't slick, but people were driving 20 miles per hour. Why? I haven't a clue. To make matters worse, the traffic light at Kirby and Main was out of sync and wasn't letting drivers make a left onto Main every other cycle.
I started getting texts about the "snow". It wasn't snowing where I was. It was okay that I was looking at my cell phone. I wasn't going anywhere. Fast. This weather occurrence was getting a lot of play in cellular land. I finally pulled into Target, spent about 15 minutes and 40 dollars, and made my way to the exit. I was almost knocked over by a checker who was running toward the store with his cell phone open, arm extended and yelling back over his shoulder, "I'm going to take video of it. It's awesome!"
I walked out of the door, thinking, "Right, sleet." I was met with the most beautiful sight. Giant, fat, fluffy, overfed, white snowflakes whirled and spun from the sky. It was an incredible sight. People stood in the parking lot of Target with their faces turned toward the heavens. I saw one family who had pulled into the lot and the teenaged kids were dancing around the car with their arms spread almost as wide as the smiles on their faces. It was snowing in Houston.
By then the traffic had cleared a bit. I drove to a nearby Tex-Mex place to place an order for dinner, since the snow had put a whammy on any possibility of seeing my sweetie. I sat at the bar as I'm known to do. I'm not shy about starting up conversations with people and there was a basketball game coming on, anyway. Snow has a way of giving people something to talk about and soon we were talking. The man to my right was a 25 year old from Austin who is trying to break into the music industry in Houston. He's a fan of Jack Kerouac and Hunter S. Thompson. That gives me hope for the upcoming generation, when I hear that they are reading those writers. We also talked about Austin music. The man to my left was a 61 year old who commutes between Houston and Tulsa. He knew some of the doctors I used to work for, back when I was cutting my teeth in the Med Center. Interesting conversations from both. By the time I drove home, there was a light blanket on the grass near Reliant Center.
I'm not sure what tomorrow morning will bring. I suppose I will set my alarm an extra hour early tomorrow. I've switched my car over to 4-wheel-drive, just in case. It's a rare thing when we get real snow in Houston. I'm glad I was able to see it.
Tiny orbs of sleet greeted me. They bounced off the cars and the parking lot with pings! and tings! and I laughed out loud. "Really? Sleet?"
The pavement was wet but wasn't icy, so I continued out onto the city streets. Oh. My. God.
Houston drivers need to just stop and - well GO! Gridlock met me in the Med Center. The streets weren't slick, but people were driving 20 miles per hour. Why? I haven't a clue. To make matters worse, the traffic light at Kirby and Main was out of sync and wasn't letting drivers make a left onto Main every other cycle.
I started getting texts about the "snow". It wasn't snowing where I was. It was okay that I was looking at my cell phone. I wasn't going anywhere. Fast. This weather occurrence was getting a lot of play in cellular land. I finally pulled into Target, spent about 15 minutes and 40 dollars, and made my way to the exit. I was almost knocked over by a checker who was running toward the store with his cell phone open, arm extended and yelling back over his shoulder, "I'm going to take video of it. It's awesome!"
I walked out of the door, thinking, "Right, sleet." I was met with the most beautiful sight. Giant, fat, fluffy, overfed, white snowflakes whirled and spun from the sky. It was an incredible sight. People stood in the parking lot of Target with their faces turned toward the heavens. I saw one family who had pulled into the lot and the teenaged kids were dancing around the car with their arms spread almost as wide as the smiles on their faces. It was snowing in Houston.
By then the traffic had cleared a bit. I drove to a nearby Tex-Mex place to place an order for dinner, since the snow had put a whammy on any possibility of seeing my sweetie. I sat at the bar as I'm known to do. I'm not shy about starting up conversations with people and there was a basketball game coming on, anyway. Snow has a way of giving people something to talk about and soon we were talking. The man to my right was a 25 year old from Austin who is trying to break into the music industry in Houston. He's a fan of Jack Kerouac and Hunter S. Thompson. That gives me hope for the upcoming generation, when I hear that they are reading those writers. We also talked about Austin music. The man to my left was a 61 year old who commutes between Houston and Tulsa. He knew some of the doctors I used to work for, back when I was cutting my teeth in the Med Center. Interesting conversations from both. By the time I drove home, there was a light blanket on the grass near Reliant Center.
I'm not sure what tomorrow morning will bring. I suppose I will set my alarm an extra hour early tomorrow. I've switched my car over to 4-wheel-drive, just in case. It's a rare thing when we get real snow in Houston. I'm glad I was able to see it.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Tortuosity (advice to a newbie on dissecting near a major artery)
The surprise is the knuckle,
the bend.
The signs point to a straight path
but near the end waits
a stumble,
a falter.
Unseen detours pose risk to
he who treads;
perhaps more to he who holds title.
Not trespass - true -
but to what breaches do missteps lead?
Such long travels!
Oh, to rest in the crook
and gain the strength to continue
this journey.
Strike on and look forward, traveler.
the bend.
The signs point to a straight path
but near the end waits
a stumble,
a falter.
Unseen detours pose risk to
he who treads;
perhaps more to he who holds title.
Not trespass - true -
but to what breaches do missteps lead?
Such long travels!
Oh, to rest in the crook
and gain the strength to continue
this journey.
Strike on and look forward, traveler.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Laws of Physics
Heat moves
down
a
gradient.
She watches with one eye,
her face on the desk,
feeling her passion escape onto
the surface as
his pen swings an even wider arc.
For just a moment,
she trusts gravity.
She raises her hand and
reaches out to stop him.
Seek the pivot.
Seek the fulcrum.
They point to balance.
No matter that all
matter falls the same.
The rush of the speed
through this fall is
certainly unique.
What motives send them vibrating
-past,
-about,
-against?
The energy to step over detritus
becomes deficient
after prolongued contact
with a human wrecking ball.
down
a
gradient.
She watches with one eye,
her face on the desk,
feeling her passion escape onto
the surface as
his pen swings an even wider arc.
For just a moment,
she trusts gravity.
She raises her hand and
reaches out to stop him.
Seek the pivot.
Seek the fulcrum.
They point to balance.
No matter that all
matter falls the same.
The rush of the speed
through this fall is
certainly unique.
What motives send them vibrating
-past,
-about,
-against?
The energy to step over detritus
becomes deficient
after prolongued contact
with a human wrecking ball.
Monday, December 1, 2008
I Can Be Convinced.
"Who's the businessman?"
The reader at Marie Leveau's House of Voodoo looked directly into my eyes and asked me again, "Who's the businessman?"
I stammered. I smiled. I told her I knew who he was. She turned over the next card.
"He has to travel? He's some distance from you?"
My heartrate increased. I felt the hammer of my pulse in my chest. What could be next?
She continued to turn over my cards, one after the other, telling me things I already knew. Through the first set and into the next. I left a little shaken, but happy. I walked out of the crowded shop and stepped onto Bourbon Street. My friends decided to pay for readings and it would be awhile. I walked to the bar next door and ordered a vodka tonic. I stood on the street and sipped it while I watched people pass in front of me. I walked back into the store when my friend asked me to sit in on her reading.
The reader started turning over cards and set one horizontally, carefully, deliberately on the table.
She asked my friend, "Is there a Pisces that could be influencing you emotionally?"
I offered to leave the room. Both told me to stay.
My cards were suddenly appearing in my friend's deck. This was bizarre - and disconcerting. I felt as if I'd ruined her reading. How was that possible?
But how was it possible that I'd thought someone had climbed into the small double bed with us the night before? I felt someone climb onto the bed, twice, and it wasn't our male roomie.
How was it possible that our other friend woke to see a dog sitting between the two beds?
Granted, we were staying in a hotel known for its hauntings.
But, I didn't expect to experience anything to do with the paranormal. Well, I admit, I'd wanted to have my chakras read. I wasn't planning to have a Tarot card reading. The voodoo shops kind of creeped me out. Until I had a reading that felt so accurate, and pleasant, and exciting.
I admit that I was having a fun time with our hotel, joking around about the hauntings. I asked on more than one occasion if the people in the hall were "real people". I even teased my friend about the handsome doorman. He had such fabulous ice blue eyes (her weakness), but he only worked at night. I told her he must certainly be a vampire.
Now I kind of wish I hadn't been so flip about it all. I bought a juju to bring home - just in case. It's at the entrance to my office at work. I collect skulls and I found one with a tiny skull and feathers. I'm sure my office mates will have an opinion about it. I will have fond memories of New Orleans when I see it. I certainly am anxious to see how my reading turns out, although how can I really see the ending? My final card was the infinity card, after all.
The reader at Marie Leveau's House of Voodoo looked directly into my eyes and asked me again, "Who's the businessman?"
I stammered. I smiled. I told her I knew who he was. She turned over the next card.
"He has to travel? He's some distance from you?"
My heartrate increased. I felt the hammer of my pulse in my chest. What could be next?
She continued to turn over my cards, one after the other, telling me things I already knew. Through the first set and into the next. I left a little shaken, but happy. I walked out of the crowded shop and stepped onto Bourbon Street. My friends decided to pay for readings and it would be awhile. I walked to the bar next door and ordered a vodka tonic. I stood on the street and sipped it while I watched people pass in front of me. I walked back into the store when my friend asked me to sit in on her reading.
The reader started turning over cards and set one horizontally, carefully, deliberately on the table.
She asked my friend, "Is there a Pisces that could be influencing you emotionally?"
I offered to leave the room. Both told me to stay.
My cards were suddenly appearing in my friend's deck. This was bizarre - and disconcerting. I felt as if I'd ruined her reading. How was that possible?
But how was it possible that I'd thought someone had climbed into the small double bed with us the night before? I felt someone climb onto the bed, twice, and it wasn't our male roomie.
How was it possible that our other friend woke to see a dog sitting between the two beds?
Granted, we were staying in a hotel known for its hauntings.
But, I didn't expect to experience anything to do with the paranormal. Well, I admit, I'd wanted to have my chakras read. I wasn't planning to have a Tarot card reading. The voodoo shops kind of creeped me out. Until I had a reading that felt so accurate, and pleasant, and exciting.
I admit that I was having a fun time with our hotel, joking around about the hauntings. I asked on more than one occasion if the people in the hall were "real people". I even teased my friend about the handsome doorman. He had such fabulous ice blue eyes (her weakness), but he only worked at night. I told her he must certainly be a vampire.
Now I kind of wish I hadn't been so flip about it all. I bought a juju to bring home - just in case. It's at the entrance to my office at work. I collect skulls and I found one with a tiny skull and feathers. I'm sure my office mates will have an opinion about it. I will have fond memories of New Orleans when I see it. I certainly am anxious to see how my reading turns out, although how can I really see the ending? My final card was the infinity card, after all.
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