Down the Line

It was a dingy little storefront in a questionable part of town with a blue neon hand over the door. All it said was “Palm Reader.”

“We have to go!” my adventurous high school friend said. So of course we did. The medium looked like the lady down the street, only more tired, like this might be the end of her second shift. And she wasn’t named Madame-Somebody or Serenity or Natasha or even Lilith. It was something like Mrs. Palmer.

I refused to pay the full $20 for something I didn’t believe in. So Mrs. Palmer read half my life for ten bucks. No kidding. On-sale palm reading. Half my life for half the money.

Here is what you don’t want happening when a palm reader looks at your palm: she looked upset. She sort of had an upset-looking face, anyway, but I’m certain it got worse. More frowny.

And she told me something sort of negative. Then she said she was feeling tired and not very psychic, and she gave me a coupon to come back. I didn’t even get my full half-a-life. Of course I didn’t go back, either.

Much later, I was sorry I didn’t. The negative thing not only came true, but it came true in a big way. In fact, it could be said that it became the bane of my life for a long, long time.

Last weekend, my more adventurous friends exclaimed, “We have to go!” So of course I did. It was still $20 after all these years. Ironic that at my age, I paid for the whole life this time. But here’s the weird thing: I was a little nervous. Silly or not, I was scared that my palm, my fate and my life were tainted somehow.

Instead, this happier-looking palm reader—named Bree—immediately announced that I was a writer. “It’s like you have to write,” she said. I found myself looking at my clothing to see if I had on anything that might give it away. Not a hint. Then she told me that I’d been through some bad stuff, some of which she described so accurately that I felt shocked and raw. How odd it feels to have a stranger tell you your secrets!

But then she told me I’d changed course, and now I was back on track. She predicted some good things. Very good things. “The lines in the hand change, you know,” she said. Did she make that up? I don’t care.

When I was young and smart, I viewed the life I hadn’t yet lived through the safe, logical theory of black and white rules. Now that I am old and silly, I view life through the reality of experience—experience that tells me life is wild and colorful and risky and full of broken rules. I no longer worship logic because I no longer want to explain everything. Life is much more fun with a little mystery. The question is no longer, “What do I believe?” The question is now, “What makes me happy to believe?”

This does. Having adventurous friends who go to see palm readers makes life better. I love knowing even at this age, I have a new hand.

 Not all those who wander are lost. ~J. R. R. Tolkien

Succinctly Yours #173: Tip…Off, or Circum…spect

Thank you to Grandma’s Goulash for hosting Succinctly Yours! The idea of this meme is to use the picture to tell a story that is sliced and clipped to a bare minimum. To be kosher, we must remain under 140 words or 140 characters. The bonus word this week was “earth.”

Charles now understood why he never on earth should have asked the mohel, Rabbi Dumbledore, to remove a splinter from the tip of his toe. 113

(Most people would never on earth guess that, before he became a wizard, Albus Dumbledore was a rabbi at the Godrick’s Hollow synagogue, B’Nai Shaman.)  127

"…I was merely reading the Muggle magazines. I do love knitting patterns."
~Albus Dumbledore in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by J. K. Rowling

A Message in Coconut Sorbet

I smiled, standing there in the frozen food case, with a cloud of cold fogging the glass freezer doors and a flush of warmth rising up in my heart. Someone had oh-so-carefully taped a little message to the lid of a carton of coconut sorbet that I was getting ready to put into my grocery cart.

Every day may not be good, but there’s something good in every day.

I had heard the saying before, and now I liked it all over again. It seemed serendipitous that I had picked it, like a bright flower in a cold winter. It’s not that I was depressed or even upset in any way, but I love, love, love little messages from strangers. They remind me that there is kindness in the world that exists for the sake of kindness alone. They remind me that even small things can spread in a big way. They remind me we are all connected somehow.

But why the sorbet? Did this person think that anyone desperate enough to buy it must be depressed? And why the coconut?

I’ll never know. What I do know is that someone out there is sending inspirational messages to others. And that is always a treat.

Luminous beings are we…not this crude matter. ~Yoda

The Orange Prayer

Years ago, when I was student teaching in a rather snobbish Midwestern high school, I sometimes ate lunch with another teacher. The two of us were outcasts who ended up tablemates due to our respective disabilities. Hers was that she was blind. Mine was that I was 21. I don’t remember what my friend’s name was or what she taught. What I do remember is the time she ate an orange.

She divined her way around the rind, then held it in front of her face like a crystal ball and pried off the peel, smiling into the air as she did. The finest sparkling spray, backlit by the fluorescent lights of the teachers’ lounge, poofed into her face like a magic spell. When she laughed with childish delight, I realized she’d cast it on purpose.

Then she carefully separated the segments, arranged them on her napkin, and steepled her orange-scented hands in front of her nose and breathed in the scent as if it were a life-giving prayer of thanks. And I believe in a sense it was.

She turned to me and beamed. “There’s nothing like eating an orange,” she said.

I have never seen an orange in quite the same way since. In fact, she taught me to see thanks itself in a new way.

For that gift, too, I am immensely thankful.

“…that’s why God needs us. Because God loves to feel things through our hands.” Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert

Improper Poll: In a Word

Recently at work I read parts of Life’s Greatest Lessons. In it, the author, Hal Urban, discussed the idea of constantly being reminded by the words “think” and “thank.”

That got me thinking: if you could have one word posted where you would see it every day as a reminder, what word would you choose? I think mine might be the word, “grateful.” The more I see what can go wrong in life, the more grateful I am for the things that are right.

In fact, a friend and I were talking about this the other day. Why is it that the people we know who have it easiest in life are those who seem to think they are perpetually suffering? They have a talent for getting people to rally around them and do things for them while they sit back and complain. These people are invariably masters of the double standard. They don’t seem to return the things they ask for. When asked why, they say it’s because they are more sensitive than others. So sensitive that they will beat people to a bloody pulp with their “I’m Sensitive” signs and then tell them they are mean for running away.

I’m convinced that the happiest people in life are not those who have it easiest. The people who have the things that look like they should be happy struggle so hard to look better than others that I can’t help but wonder if they feel worse.

My friend and I concluded that it’s really the grateful who are the most happy in life. If you could have any one word posted as a reminder where you would see it every day, what would that word be?

Here’s to a happy—and grateful—2013!

Honored

Hard to believe it’s been an entire year since our beloved dog, Buddy, died. The new Chicken Soup for the Soul dog book, called I Can’t Believe My Dog Did That, is coincidentally due out next Tuesday.

A few months ago, I had a dream. I don’t remember my dreams much anymore, so I’ve taken to writing them down. This was a particularly vivid one, so I wrote it right away. Here is what I wrote:

I dreamed I saw Buddy. We were in a pretty, shady park that was lined with hydrangeas, and Buddy was just sitting in front of me, staring at me. Which is what he used to do when he was alive, come to think of it. I knew he was dead, but it was possible for him to come back for a visit. In fact, he somehow let me know that he was back due to a special occasion. I have no idea what the special occasion was—it wasn’t his birthday, which was back in March or April, but I didn't want to ask him because he seemed to think I should know.

Later that day, I looked up the meaning of hydrangeas: friendship, understanding, devotion, gratitude.

Still later that day, I received the message that my story about Buddy, “Happy Holi-dog,” was accepted for publication in the aforementioned book.

Friendship, understanding, devotion, gratitude. I will always feel those things for Buddy. And for Chicken Soup for the Soul, come to think of it.

 Friends are the family we choose for ourselves. ~Edna Buchanan

It Hinges on Decency

It started with a hinge that broke on a cabinet door. I contacted Home Depot, who gave me the number of the company that made them (called R.S.I.),  and ordered new hinges. They came almost immediately in a little envelope, free of charge. I took them out…and they were the wrong ones. That’s when I realized with horror that my cabinets had come from a different store. Different cabinet company entirely.

How embarrassing.

 I hate dishonesty. If the lack of empathy is the devil—and I believe it is—then dishonesty is the car (s)he rode in on. I’ve known some of the most honest people in the world as well as some of the most dishonest. I’ve always admired the former tremendously. The latter inspire nothing but pity and contempt.

So I mailed the hinges back with postage. I included a note explaining what had happened and apologized. If it had been their mistake, I would have expected them to make it right. But this was mine, so I tried.

A few days later, along came my check for postage. It included a little note thanking me and explaining that they try to help when they can. The note even had a smiley face on it. That note really made me feel good. I smiled all day…about that smiley face.

Two days later, along came a package in the mail, express delivery, from R.S.I. It was a bigger envelope…filled with hinges. No kidding—there was every possible kind of hinge that my door could need. And it did, in fact, contain the very hinges that worked for my cabinet door. Even though I didn’t purchase the doors through their company.

I’m still smiling. I may not have purchased my cabinets from RSI, but I sure would next time. Who wouldn’t want to buy from such a pleasant and helpful place? I would show you the note, which made me feel so good that I saved it, but it fell off my bulletin board and landed behind the filing cabinet. Which is okay. I imagine someday I’ll move that filing cabinet and find it. And then I’ll smile all over again.

From the rocking horse to the rocking chair, friendship keeps teaching us about being human. ~Letty Cottin Pogrebin (whose name alone should be a quote.)