How to Get Married


A while back I was gifted with a psychic reading. I’m always a bit nervous before these calls. What will she tell me? Will her voice get deeper and more mysterious as she says that I am going to choke on a Teddy Graham on a random Tuesday night while watching Glee? My mind goes crazy for a moment. Will the invariably hot ambulance drivers come to pick up my body and see the skin of my throat stretched over those little brown sugar legs? It’s terrifying really.

My reading lasted about an hour and, more than once, I had to stop pacing and sit down because of the knowledge this woman had about my life and my thoughts for the future. She was just dead-on, no pun intended. And, to my relief, this amazingly gifted woman didn’t portend my death. No, it was much, much worse. She told me I was going to get married.

After we hung up the phone I scoffed, snickered, ALMOST choked on my Biscoff biscuit, and then fell to floor laughing and thought, when the state of Texas is turned into a glacial iceberg and the wooly Mammoth makes its return in San Antonio, then I will get married again. Read more

“Go West,” Young Heathen


So… I’m heading West in my covered wagon. Okay, fine – it’s a shiny black Beetle convertible, and the soft top keeps the wind out much better than those flaps of old. But those are just semantics.

For those who didn’t know. Surprise! My Inner Nomad is ready for a change. I’ve been in Cleveland for almost 9 years now and I’m approaching my limit, itching for something new, that North wind of Chocolat fame is a-blowing.

And I have no idea where I’m going to go.

I’m reminded of Joan Didion’s book Where I Was From. Her ancestors seeking a new adventure in covered wagons through the Oregon Trail and Donner pass, meeting death along the way. Didion’s family carried their treasures; Rosewood chests, flatware, a hand mirror- if memory serves. I think about what I will carry in my own “covered wagon”; my beloved pup So-Kr8z in his doggie car-seat, 42 boxes of books, and a passel of memories from my time here.

If you read my previous article you’ll know that dreaming of my home in San Francisco caused me to break out in a hell of a rash. I don’t think this means I won’t end up there, I’ve just realized that I can’t cling so tightly. In fact, I got an email from the Universe post-rash that caused my morning coffee to spurt from my nose:

“Uncertainty, Melanie, only means I’ve yet to decide how to surprise you best, based upon all you’re thinking, saying, and doing.” ~ The Universe

Wow! I love that. And… as Lissa Rankin says, “Sometimes we ask for a Pinto, when the Universe is trying to give us a Rolls Royce.” Who knows… maybe I’m asking for San Fran and the Universe is trying to give me Europe.

So, I’ve stopped worrying about the “hows” and the “wheres” and am focusing instead on the “what I want to feel” in this new place of mine.

I’m only sure of one thing, at this point: I’ve started packing.