Wishes Fulfilled

I have a secret.  Well, not exactly a secret, more of a secret talent. I don’t tell many people about it, until today, that is, when I decided to write about it in my blog.  Yet, I’ve just launched my website, and very few people know about it, so I guess it’s kind of a secret between us.

So here it is… I can order things at the dump.

No, not trash, good stuff. We have a give and take table, and I can wish for something, or visualize something and then it appears.  It’s not really even conscious wishing, more like I might think something out loud, and then soon after, there it is on the give and take table, or as my friend Eleanor calls it, “the still good pile.”

When Eleanor told me that she hadn’t read Many Lives Many Masters by Brian Weiss, I told her that I’d get her a copy. Unfortunately for my friends at Toadstool Bookstore, there it was on the give and take table two days later.

“This popcorn is too oily,” I said on a Tuesday. “I wish we had an air popper.”  There it was on Saturday, still in the box.  Same with the French coffee press, still in its box as well.  We’d had one, but I’d given it away and then wished I hadn’t (I know what you’re thinking, but it wasn’t mine, it was a different brand.)  My son’s class was going on a camping trip and the only thing missing from the list was a teapot.  I wasn’t giving up the new white kettle on my stove, and nobody else offered up theirs either.  “Do I dare?” I thought, “Try to order it?”  “Absolutely, not,” I told myself. “But, if I happen to go to the dump on Thursday and there happens to be a teapot, that would be swell.” There it was. I took it home, cleaned it up and sent it on the trip.  Never saw it again, which is why I didn’t loan mine in the first place.

The rug just about put my mother in law through the roof. I had just finished telling her that I wished I could find a new rug for our sitting room – something blue. “Blues are hard to find,” she said. She knew because she’d been looking for a rug for over a year. That same day, my husband and I went to the dump. There was a rug folded up under the give and take table. I grabbed Lee’s shirt. He tried to pull away. “No way,” he said curling his lip. “Not a used rug.” Even Lois, the dump’s recycling vigilantly, took his side.  “You never know with a rug,” she said.  I could see that it was a hooked rug, blues, and as you now know, I’d had luck before.  I begged Lee to help me carry it to the car, promising to return it immediately if it was no good.

My mother in law helped me carry it in, and she unfolded it before I had a chance. “I am officially mad at you,” she said.  “I know this rug, and it sells for 700 bucks. It’s practically brand new!”  As she vacuumed, she grumbled about looking for a rug for over a year. I offered to give her that one, but she said the colors weren’t right.  She did ask, however, if I’d order one for her. “Something with reds and tans, but not too red and not too tan.”  I told her I’d try.

Many unsuccessful months later, it’s beginning to look like my secret talent is reserved for my wishes alone.

Don’t tell my mother in law, but look at the gorgeous oil painting I picked up at the dump yesterday! Just right on the wall where I wished for something with a burst of color.


Birth and Blogging

I must admit… I was soooo anxious about starting a blog. I mean anxious enough, that it lingered in the back of my mind for many months as my website developed, stopped developing and started again.

I wondered…what would I write about and why would anyone want to read it?  For months, I created lists of possible blog topics. On the back of scrap paper, napkins and some times my hand.  But, scrap paper gets lost, napkins get tossed, hands get washed, and I was left to again wonder and worry about what I’d write.

Then my website was just about done.  I received a book contract from the publisher.  I learned to tweet. I registered on facebook.  “Just put up a couple of blog entries before you unveil your website,” the designer suggested.  “Yeah, sure,” I said, my poker face hiding my great unease.

When I spoke of my fear to a friend, she told me I was silly.  “You wrote a book,” she said.  “A book that’s going to get published.”  Of course she was right, but book writing involved a period of years, followed by months, ok years, of editing.  A blog entry is supposed to be quick and witty, not too long, not too short.  It’s a perfectionist’s nightmare!

So, finally, the other day, I bit the bullet.  I wrote my first blog entry. It’s the one about taking down the tree.  (The Andie turning 10 entry had been blank for quite some time).  So I wrote and I clicked save, thinking I go back, maybe 2 or 3 or 30 more times to review and revise. But, lo and behold, to my great surprise, there it was posted on my website.  Just like that.  I had blogged (is that really a verb?).

So for months I had worried about something that was over in a matter of seconds.

It reminded me of my epidural fear.  Throughout my entire pregnancy with Tuck (never got that far during Andie’s) I worried about a needle going in my back.  Back in 1998, not getting drugs wasn’t even a thought in my mind.  So I carried a growing Tuck in my front, and a growing fear of the drug that would keep me calm, pain free and less afraid, in my back.

When I was in labor, I begged the young anesthesiologist to please, please, pleasetell me when he was going to stick the needle in my back.  When he laughed and said that he’d already done it, I sunk back on the bed, relieved, and maybe even a bit disappointed, that I wasted all that energy worrying about something that turned out to be no big deal.

As I continue to learn, it’s like so many things in life…you just don’t know ‘til you get there.

Taking Down the Tree

As I took the first ornament off the tree, I felt a wave of sadness come over me. I didn’t expect to feel sad. Just yesterday I said how relieved I was that the holidays were over. Life could return to “normal.”
treeAs I tucked a white porcelain teddy bear ornament in the cardboard box, I pulled a chair out from the dining room table and sat. I realized, as I gazed at this trim, perfectly manicured, Douglas Fir, standing proudly in the corner of our dining room, that I actually am taking a holiday. A holiday from making lists, racing to crowded stores, stamping envelopes, cutting glossy paper that will later fill a landfill, preparing elaborate, meat and starch laden meals and all the rest.

This post-holiday holiday has brought open spaces on my calendar, time to write and walk and breathe. Time to reflect. Time to be.

Perhaps I won’t take the tree down just yet. Instead, I think I’ll brew a cup of tea and enjoy this gift of a newfound holiday. I will relish this beautiful evergreen that I had so little time to enjoy during the previous holiday.

FYI – holiday |ˈhäliˌdā| noun –  a day of festivity or recreation when no work is done

Thanks, Webster. I’ll try to remember that next year!