Fear of Dawn

psychic“Yes, I can help you,” she answered, “but my magic has a price. Although under the circumstances, perhaps you will be eager to pay it.”

“How do you possibly know ‘my circumstances’?” I asked the woman. My friend Lacey told me that her cousin Jennifer knew a woman who was a psychic. This “spirit goddess,” as she called herself, rented a small room in the tiny village 20 miles from my home. I deemed myself desperate enough to pay her a visit.

Perhaps “pay” was the operative word here. I didn’t expect her services for free, but… “Whatever my circumstances, what is your fee?” I asked. Continue reading

The Magic of My Smile

magic, smileAt first, I wasn’t sure how to use it. A handshake made sense, but how many people do I actually shake hands with in a span of a day?

So then I thought, how about just in the tilt of my head? When I’m ready to dispense my magic, I’ll just tilt my head and ta da –magic completed.magic, smile

But no, I decided, too impersonal and detached. Same with my rather whimsical idea of wrinkling my nose aka Samantha in “Bewitched.” When I’m ready to bestow this newfound magic, I need to do it up front and personal. I was rather proud of my new powers, so I wanted to share them in as pleasant and friendly a way as possible.

So my smile became the vehicle for my magic. Continue reading

Under the Princess Canopy

princess canopy, grandchild, sleepTo my 4-year-old granddaughter, the most exciting part of my visit is that I get to sleep with her in her queen-sized bed.

At 9:30 p.m., Sophie’s constant energy is barely contained, even with the lights out and flannel sheets up to our chins. The bed is crowded with just the two of us, since half a dozen “my little ponies” have joined us on the counterpane, jumping in high spirits at my presence.

The chatter between Sophie and her tiny plastic friends finally turns to whispers, and then soft little snores. I start to fade out myself until I’m poked on one hip by a pony fairy wing, and I feel a plastic tail wiggle in my ear. Quietly, I place all the fantastical toys in the bin on the floor, and sink back into comfortable oblivion.

Until my eyes pop open. Two little-girl feet are propped on my face. I raise my neck a few inches and notice the sleeping child’s head down at the foot of the bed.

Not wanting to wake her (I really do believe in letting sleeping ponies, and little girls, lie) I slowly twist away and gently move the child’s knees off my chest.

An hour later (or is it only minutes?) an arm whaps me on the neck, and then a precious child, now right side up, cuddles into my stomach, finding my body a useful pillow.

I stare at the wispy white princess canopy over my head and demand my brain to stop laughing and GO BACK TO SLEEP.

Which I do, until an errant dolly finds my lower back, and brilliant little Sophie begins talking in her sleep.

Geometric solutions?  my little ponies, grandchild, restless sleep


An arcane language?

Oh. She’s mumbling about “glimmer winged” pony Rainbow Dash chasing  Fluttershy in the magical night air.

5 a.m. and I just lay on the soft bed with my sweet grandchild, pretending that winged ponies are flying in and out of the canopy, dusting us with glitters of grandmotherly love.