Cereal, Milk, and a Bank Loan (Part 2)

purple-wig-with-bangs-3This is part 2 of a remembrance. Part 1 can be found here

The idea of going to a psychic was like a dozen Christmases! This was my most wonderful time of the year, Andy Williams! And this wasn’t just any pretend psychic like on a 1-900 line, but one that my boss (the person who kept me employed and paid me) swore up and down was completely legit. I was giddy, giggling throughout the week up to my appointment like a kid on Christmas Eve.

Yes, I had to make an appointment, this psychic didn’t meet with just anyone. She also wanted to talk to me on the phone for ten minutes before agreeing to the meeting. It was an awkward conversation (which I did in the branch office with my manager looking on), almost feeling like I was attending a job interview. Of course here my soul, not my resume, was under review.  Finally, she said that I was okay and she would meet with me.

 Merry Christmas!

This, by the way, is not to say that I really believed any of this kind of stuff. But… But… But if this was an actual, real psychic like in a movie and I was about to have an experience like that? Well, just imagine that!

Quests have begun with lesser moments than that! By the way, that is the problem with having my imagination, it can carry me away just like a bear with a picnic basket. And at this point, it was a very wonderful picnic basket, full of magic and possible future joy and success. I couldn’t help but get excited by the fantastical possibility of it all.

Yes, I am in many ways a cynic and a realist, but a part of me has always wanted to believe in more than what I can see in front of me. I want to believe in a destiny and purpose, even though in my heart I know it is all a bunch of baloney. Continue reading

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Losing the Grinch: When I Became a Who

The GrinchI have a personal Grinch.  I have never met him, but I know he is out there; and he knows I’m out there as well. We are connected, we share a history.  And it is not a history I would have chosen for myself… obviously.

No one wants to be a Who

When my son (my first born) was only a month old, we stayed at my parents’ house for Christmas Eve. On Christmas Day we raced home, looking forward to sharing our first Christmas as parents of a perfect and beautiful baby.

I first realized that something was wrong when I pulled into the driveway. Something was off. The air around me was different. A sickening feeling suddenly tightened my stomach.  Once I was out of the car, I quickly surmised the awful truth of the situation. I told my wife to stay in the car with the baby and the dog.

I asked her to call 9-1-1.

Our house was broken into on Christmas Eve and our first Christmas as parents was forever ruined. Continue reading

Chasing the Ghost of Sherlock Holmes

Sherlock HolmesAs I write this I am surrounded by the ghost of Sherlock Holmes.

I am wearing a t-shirt for the BBC show Sherlock. You can also find the Blu Rays for the seasons behind me, alongside the box set containing all of the films starring Basil Rathbone and the series with Jeremy Brett (my favorite television Holmes).

Over to my side is my Sherlock Holmes deerstalker hat that I bought at 221B Baker Street in London many years ago. I remember that moment vividly.

Why?

Well, honestly, I have a big head. I can’t really buy hats since it is rare I find one that fits my large skull. After spending an afternoon walking through the properly messy rooms of the museum, I assumed I would be going home with just a copy of an illustration from the original books (now on the wall in my kitchen), but to my utter surprise there was a hat that fit me. My large head? Really? It was a glorious moment, as if the great detective was prepared for my arrival. Continue reading