Pardon Me, Miss - Your Pentacles are Showing

Tarot cards, often depicting situations from carnival workers' dreams, were invented long before families used board games to vie for superiority in shag-carpeted dens. ("Think you're too good to pay a Community Chest fine?  Get in that jail, Mr. Double-Hotel-on-Marvin-Gardens!")

Ah, those were the days.  We were learning to be adults - from adults who were well-polished children.

We didn't have a tarot deck when I was young, but we did have an ancient Ouija board.  All three felt pads on the pointer thingy's feet were worn completely off from heavy use.  It wasn't that we relied on the pointer thingy for insight - we used it to exercise control over siblings who were trying to spell out the answers they wanted.

Not only did we develop world-class wrist muscles, but our spelling skills grew exponentially with every teasing sentence out of my brother Randy's mouth.  "That's great, Beverly - you're going to marry an ASTERNAT."  Etc.

Today's Tarot Reading class brought back those Ouija memories.  When I chuckled about it to a classmate, she blanched.  "Oh, my God," she said, "that instrument of the antichrist wasn't in my childhood home, nor is it allowed near my children.  Do you still worship the devil?"

I stared until her original color returned, then revealed that only insane people believe an actual spirit takes over the Ouija pointer thingy.  (When Ouija-ing by ourselves as kids we just mustered up faint finger tremors and kept one eye open to make sure our knight in shining armor's name really was PAUL FROM THE BEATLES.)

As I began comparing Ouija with Tarot, this classmate was one step ahead of me.  She whipped out her deck.  "Angel cards," she said.  "Nothing can hurt me with these."

My own deck is one I'd purchased for this class after perusing approximately seven thousand options on Amazon.  There were scantily clad everything in lots of frightening circumstances, but I chose the Enchanted Forest Animals.  They are adorable!  And not one spiky ball on the end of a bloody chain in the whole bunch.

All I had researched about tarot before this class was how to pronounce it, so I was caught off guard when the teacher announced we'd start by doing tarot readings for the persons to our right.

The Angel Deck Lady scampered away, which left a neighbor who was clearly upset about something.  I didn't need cards to divine that - she had built a little fortress of used tissues that I had no interest in penetrating.

I raised my hand.  We don't even know each other.  How can I explain what's happening in her life?

By the tarot.  Our teacher told us to trust ourselves and reveal whatever came to mind when we studied the cards.

Sheesh.  I am so bad at this stuff.  I limped along through the sad neighbor's 'present circumstances' card, which looked to me like somebody she loved was far away.  Yes, yes - she assured me - her son had just run away from home because his parents are divorcing.

I put the cards down and asked the age of her son.  It seemed a good jumping-off point for some world-class venting, but she stared at the deck and asked me to reveal the 'future.'

Naturally, it was the Death Card.  She gasped.  "Do you think I'm going to die during my colonoscopy tomorrow?"

Oh, gosh.  I raised my hand again and told the teacher I was wildly out of my element, so she suggested we switch and have the neighbor do a reading for me.

My first card from the neighbor's deck, representing the past, was a little worrisome:

There was not much reassurance from my soft, fuzzy deck:

My neighbor raised one eyebrow.  "You're hiding something, aren't you?  A feeling, perhaps?"

I smiled back.  Got me.

My 'present circumstances' seemed pretty straightforward:

Ooh, goody - the Nine of Grapefruit!  I love citrus.

"No," the neighbor lady said, "the pentacles stand for money.  It looks like you are being greedy."

I did a quick Forest Animal check:

Hmmm.  She may be on to something.  That fox is pretty nicely dressed.

In my head the Ouija board was joined by the Magic 8 Ball, a few years of therapeutic counseling sessions, and several thousand fortune cookies.  The teacher's first instruction from today's class summed it all up beautifully.

Trust yourselves.

Every magic source we seek allows us to 'interpret' signs based on where we've been, where we are, and where we want to be.

The woman with the Kleenex fort clearly saw her own demise during a routine outpatient procedure, whereas I wished I'd gotten the Death card - it clearly represented a new job on my horizon.

My third card, representing the future, was SO exciting - it showed exactly the way I've always wanted my hair to behave:

But my classmate couldn't promise this would be true.  "Ask the animals," she advised.

So I did:

I was shocked.  Look how much happier that pig is - and she doesn't even have hair!  All I need is a pink dress, a teeny crown, and some pine trees.

Kleenex Lady sniffled.  "You're so lucky," she said, "I wish I'd gotten those cards."

Wait - how many times do we say that?  "I wish I'd gotten that house - those legs - Bill Gates's money.  Instead I got this house, Bill Gates's legs, no money."

Good news!  It's all in the way we 'interpret' what's dealt.  (And we can spell out whatever we want - with or without a sibling's permission.)

I stared again at the Death card.  Yup.  Pretty scary.  So I found the Magical Forest equivalent and tried again with my neighbor.

Oh, look - they're just playing dead!  Like when you have well-regulated drugs for conscious sedation during a totally benign procedure with a practically ZERO complication rate!

She donned her readers and took a closer look:

She smiled.  "You're right!  I think the one lying down there by that nurse is going to be just fine."

I gave her a little hug before she sprinted home to start her bowel prep.

(Wish you could mimic those crazy sounds your car makes on the way to work in a rainstorm during rush hour?  Bring your kazoo!  Car Smarts right here next Friday.)