So there I was at this party with a most unusual theme: it was a celebration of the autumnal equinox, which not only marks the beginning of fall, but is also known as The Witches Thanksgiving. It's considered a day of thanks for Wiccans.
How could I resist? Besides, I'm sure I've been called a witch at some time or another. Or at least something that rhymes with it.
The evening also supported a good cause, hosting three large bins to collect "the bounty of the harvest" for the Alameda County Food Bank. Excellent company, tasty hors d'oeuvres, festive decorations. Oh yeah, and did I mention the psychic?
That's right. My friend Sue hired a psychic named Rabbit and generously scheduled readings for each guest. Her intent was that we not just have a good time, but that we walk away with "something memorable, deep and meaningful."
Mission accomplished.
During my private session, Rabbit identified that in the course of grieving the death of a loved one, I'd forgotten how to be happy. How to appreciate those little moments in life that add color, meaning and joy. "I don't mean hopping on a plane to Paris or buying a new car," she explained. "I mean doing little things that make you happy, like indulging in a hot fudge sundae or taking a mid-afternoon nap even though the floor needs mopping. Do it 'cause you wanna."
That should be my new mantra, she advised. 'Cause I wanna.
"If that feels too self-indulgent, look at others around you and do something for them," she continued. "And do so in the name of your loved one. Make someone else happy in her name, 'cause I wanna."
Now I know that sceptics might argue that this is verbiage straight from any Grief Therapy 101 manual, and I might agree. Except, how could I explain how Rabbit knew very specific details about my mother's death? Details that I didn't confirm or deny, but most definitely hit the mark.
This weekend, I remembered her words when I popped off a check to the East Bay SPCA even though I have bills to pay. Enjoyed a leisurely lunch with my sister when I should have been working on a writing assignment. Took time to notice the beautiful sunrise from my bedroom window. And last but not least, I asked Stu Homer, of Golden State Greyhound Adoption, about available fosters. It may be time to find Elvis a companion.
'Cause I wanna. And you know what? It felt good.
How could I resist? Besides, I'm sure I've been called a witch at some time or another. Or at least something that rhymes with it.
The evening also supported a good cause, hosting three large bins to collect "the bounty of the harvest" for the Alameda County Food Bank. Excellent company, tasty hors d'oeuvres, festive decorations. Oh yeah, and did I mention the psychic?
That's right. My friend Sue hired a psychic named Rabbit and generously scheduled readings for each guest. Her intent was that we not just have a good time, but that we walk away with "something memorable, deep and meaningful."
Mission accomplished.
During my private session, Rabbit identified that in the course of grieving the death of a loved one, I'd forgotten how to be happy. How to appreciate those little moments in life that add color, meaning and joy. "I don't mean hopping on a plane to Paris or buying a new car," she explained. "I mean doing little things that make you happy, like indulging in a hot fudge sundae or taking a mid-afternoon nap even though the floor needs mopping. Do it 'cause you wanna."
That should be my new mantra, she advised. 'Cause I wanna.
"If that feels too self-indulgent, look at others around you and do something for them," she continued. "And do so in the name of your loved one. Make someone else happy in her name, 'cause I wanna."
Now I know that sceptics might argue that this is verbiage straight from any Grief Therapy 101 manual, and I might agree. Except, how could I explain how Rabbit knew very specific details about my mother's death? Details that I didn't confirm or deny, but most definitely hit the mark.
This weekend, I remembered her words when I popped off a check to the East Bay SPCA even though I have bills to pay. Enjoyed a leisurely lunch with my sister when I should have been working on a writing assignment. Took time to notice the beautiful sunrise from my bedroom window. And last but not least, I asked Stu Homer, of Golden State Greyhound Adoption, about available fosters. It may be time to find Elvis a companion.
'Cause I wanna. And you know what? It felt good.
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