Luck

My family is very superstitious. Very. I grew up with tea leaves, coffee grounds, cards, and even bones being read. This was normal. For my family anyway.

When I started collecting various decks of tarot cards, no one blinked an eye. A few even bought me decks to add to my collection. It was even suggested that I wrap my cards in silk for protection. I was taught to read regular playing cards while I was in Russia. The woman who taught me had the same name as me, but I didn't know this at the time.

I met her when I'd gone into my cousin's kitchen for a glass of water. I was only introduced to her as my cousin's card reader. We shook hands, she looked me in the eye and said she would teach me to read cards. Now. Several people were gathered around to translate and I dutifully took notes. Later that day, I bought a deck of cards that I'd found particularly appealing and started. Unfortunately, that deck, along with my notes, and all of my other decks are all gone now.

Apparently, while I was in Russia, word got around that I was pretty darn good at "seeing" things. I'm not quite sure how that got around, really. All I know is that one day, after sitting around drinking tea, we passed our cups around and jokingly told each other's fortunes. I didn't know what the symbols meant, so I only told them the images I saw. Next thing I know, I'm being shuttled around from house to house and asked to find pictures in the shoulder blade of a lamb freshly killed to honor my visit.

Upon further reflection, my life is filled with a lot of these odd little moments. I never thought much of them at the time. I wonder why.

Anyway, superstition.. I always found that I had good luck on Friday the 13th. Likewise, black cats crossing my path never brought me harm. They usually signified something good coming my way. I never walked under a ladder just because it seemed like a stupid thing to do. Bad things always come in threes. I'd learned these from family members and on my own. The only one who disagreed with any of the above was my mom. Black cats were the worst luck, she always said.

We went for a walk the other day. Mom immediately spotted it. A black cat crossing the street in front of us. "Just what I need now," she said, looking a bit upset. I told her how they always brought me the best of luck. It made me optimistic about what was coming. She just shook her head and worried.

Today, I got a call about work. The training and orientation that had been delayed were back on this week. We chatted, things went well, everything was set up.

I talked to my mom at lunchtime and she told me that she'd gotten into an accident in the morning. How it had happened so fast and how things were looking grim. She blamed the cat. I told her that I needed to glue a horseshoe to her forehead because she'd drawn some seriously bad luck this year.

Even with the bad news, I can't help but feel optimistic. Maybe it's because the sun is shining and the sky is a cloudless blue. Maybe it's because of the newly sprouting and blooming plants everywhere I look. Maybe it's because deep down inside, I actually believe that we make our own luck good or bad. So much for superstition after all.