Cheers To Magic

The Sears catalogue came in the mail the other day. Boy oh boy the magic that book gave me. Or was it magic that my mother gave me by setting the scene.

Maybe my Mom was really the good witch of the memory by calling a wee girl to the door to see what a mere mortal man had hidden in the box attached to the house.

Maybe my Mom was really the good witch of the memory by handing me the book and whisking me off to her bedroom where I was placed in the center of the bed, leaving me feel that I was picked (by who, I never knew) to turn that first page that would allow me to get to the magic kingdom of toys. Handed a box of medicine (chocolates) and told that today, of all days, I too would get some medicine.

Maybe my Mom was really the good witch of the memory by placing a magic kiss on my head and then slowly shutting the door of that extraordinary room that for some reason I felt was attached to Santa’s workshop.

I don’t know if I ever held a bible with such reverence as I did that Sears catalogue.

I believe that was the beginning of when I felt that other worlds existed.

I have always believed and still believe that other worlds exist. After all, what is on the other side of the moon, lying in the crack of a mirror, between the walls that separate a room, hiding in the tiniest corner between the slats on a bookcase, glimmering in the icicles hanging off the house, and hidden in the moss at the base of the tree?

I have often tried to reach these places, wherever they are. I tried hard to get through the cracks in the walls between the bedrooms and I turned the pages of many a book and found glimpses of the other worlds all over the place. I would often look for split trunks on the trees with the most moss just so that I could climb to another dimension that I knew with a certainty was there.

Even now I see little signs that point to another place, like the light shining on the snow, the glass of ice that now separates the road in front of my house from the air above it, the moon shifting position allowing us in until it closes right up once a month and then we wait again.

But more than anything I see someplace else in the sparkle of Josephine’s eyes. I hear the tinkling of far off bells in the clap of her hands that surely lead to the sprites and angels that are making her laugh. Even when I see in front of me that those sprites and angels look like her Mom and Dad, Auntie Nadalene and Uncle Charlton, Uncle Nathan or her Grandpa.

I personally see other much softer, kinder worlds when I am with Josephine. I completely feel my body being lifted up. I gaze into her eyes and whoosh; I am moved to a happier, more forgiving place. I become better than what I was. Magic so exists.

I credit my Mom for my love of the fantastical. After all, I never ever heard of my friends mothers seeing shadow people. But my Mom has always seen them. As a matter of fact she saw a couple walking down the hall the other day. I myself had never seen them, except for a week after my Dad died when a shadow person was in my room and when I turned around it scooted away.

Cheers to magic and may we all find some.