What is now

Now I’ve relaunched this website. It’s still a work-in-progress.

Now I’m rethinking what it means to deliver content. Also, I am now hating the word content.

Now you can find me primarily on Instagram. I’m also on Facebook, Pinterest, Twitter, and YouTube. Follow my blog with Bloglovin I’m mostly interested in Instagram and Youtube right now.

Now I need to stop working on this and take my daughter to pick out a Halloween costume.

Now I’ll be thinking about what I’m going to write next.

Cheerio My Deario

i once was an innocent kit
wotthehell wotthehell
with a ribbon my neck to fit
and bells tied onto it
o wotthehell wotthehell
but a maltese cat came by
with a come hither look in his eye
and a song that soared to the sky
and wotthehell wotthehell
and i followed adown the street
the pad of his rhythmical feet
o permit me again to repeat
wotthehell wotthehell

the song of mehitabel, Don Marquis 1927

Have you ever read Archy & Mehitabel? I remember first picking it up in a used book store in Bowling Green, Ohio. Don Marquis wrote these hundreds of little humorous verses for a newspaper (my dream job?) in the twenties—from the point of view of a cockroach and his alley cat friend. It came up in a conversation earlier this week because I recalled a connection with toujours gai Mehitabel. She was a lot of things. Funny, but deeply flawed. She made a lot of mistakes during her search for love.

Did she ever find it? my friend asked.

I don’t remember now.

Isn’t it funny how we sometimes don’t remember the most important parts?

I guess for me, it wasn’t the most important part.

I am almost always surprised, in retrospect, by the most important part of any thing—the seemingly meaningless shred of memory filtering through the dark times, the how and why of this unconscious selection. Is my subconscious protecting me from a cutting pain or a tender vulnerability, by filing away the mundane details or an inconsequential plot point instead? There were instances I know I’ve sworn—in the moment—to remember always. I can remember the promise, but not context in which I made it. Instead of the smile on my infant son’s face, his weight in my arms, that milky-sweet baby smell, I can recall the exact color and quality of the floorboards in the home where we paced back and forth all night long during those early days together. Memory is deceptive and unreliable, colored by the present. An underpainting on a canvas we can’t put down or hang up.

So we have touchstones to bring us back—books and songs and baubles we keep on the shelf. But for me, when I’m searching for that one particular image, I know I can find it again in a poem. My daughter is a haiku—unexpected and impressionistic. My son is a sonnet—intelligently composed and delicately choreographed. And me. I’m the vers libre. A hot mess. Complicit even, in my form, regardless of my merit.

But what can I say, deeply flawed as I am?
wotthehell wotthehell


Bokashi composting is a system for eliminating food waste from your trash bins. I’m a big fan of compost—I have all the books and I even fancied taking the Master Composter course at the county extension office (alas the schedule conflicts with roller derby). This is to say, there are many different methods you can try to efficiently compost your kitchen scraps—it’s a whole science and art. Bokashi, in particular, uses a small, air-tight bin and requires that you cover your waste with inoculated sawdust (or some other carbon-rich substrate—I use coffee grounds because coffee is another passion of mine). This dust is alive with beneficial indigenous (ideally) microbes that break down the organic material in an anaerobic fermentation process. Yes. I like bokashi the best, because it ferments your garbage.

The thing is, it’s not enough to just toss some dust on your carrot tops and forget it. Once your bucket is full, the material still isn’t suitable for use in the garden, unless it’s aged so it can further breakdown. You have to bury it somewhere. Or leave it in a dark closet. Or find another compost sister system it can become part of.

This site, for so long, has been my bokashi bucket.

If you’ve ever written a blog, a book, or endeavored any creative pursuit, you can probably relate. To begin, you toss everything in. All the scraps of your day—the stuff that doesn’t make it to work, the stuff that doesn’t get talked out of you in meetings, the stuff you’re not Tweeting or posting on Facebook.

And then, it has to ferment. You’ve got to layer it with the good stuff. Treat it gently. Keep it in a warm, dark place. I think of fermentation as an act of stewardship, and creative incubating is the same.

The part I struggle with is transitions—it’s not an intuitive muscle I have developed. So knowing when my bucket is full, when it has rested sufficiently, when it’s composition has changed so much that it is no longer the thing it started as—that’s the trick. If you want the process to remain easy, you just guess, when it looks good enough, that it’s time to spread that shit all over. And then, you hope you garden grows better.

But this is really about writing. And how do you know when the words you’ve gathered have fermented into a new and useful and even beautiful thing? If you’ve gone through the process of gathering, layering, and resting in the dark places, when is it time to turn?

Allow me a moment to pivot back to my metaphor. The thing about composting is, you really can’t fuck it up. I mean, you could move it along too fast, and the worst you end up with is some moldy potato peels in your flower beds. Sure it might stink—it might even stink a whole lot. But even if it smells, it’s not lost. You can fix it. Or you can forget it and (eventually), it’ll be fine. The point is, your cabbage hearts are out of a landfill—you’ve already won.

But do something with it. Pull it out and stir it up first, if you must. But decide that it’s good enough to throw on the lawn. Otherwise all the effort you’ve put into your bucket is lost, bubbling in a closet, until everything that was good, that could have been good, that might have helped, has been eaten away.

Are you now as fascinated by bokashi as I am? If you want to get obsessed, here are some resources:

Don’t panic! It’s just Mercury Retrograde!

It’s that glorious time of year again when you open your feed on Twitter and find everyone suddenly posting about Mercury Retrograde. Ten things to avoid during Mercury Rx! How to get through Mercury Rx! What to Expect when Mercury is Rx!

And now that it’s entered the internet zeitgeist (check out all the Mercury Rx articles up on HuffPost right now, ye nonbelievers!), I’m sure you know the basics. Don’t make plans. Don’t travel. Don’t sign contracts. Don’t expect your computer to work. Don’t send emails. Don’t text.

I get it. I do. But the straw that broke the sibyl’s back was when I clicked over to a popular astrology site this morning. A commenter wrote how she had been hoping to make an offer on her dream house. Given this new information about Mercury, should she hold off and wait it out.


Are you ready for this? Ok, here we go…

It just so happens, because of the way we’re standing on a big round ball in space that’s spinning and rotating around a giant star that has other big round balls also spinning and rotating around it, sometimes it appears as though a planet has slowed and reversed direction completely1. This is nothing to panic about because it happens all the time.

Mercury goes retrograde a few times every year. According to the Farmer’s Almanac, it’ll happen three times in 2014. Feb. 6-28, June 7-July 2, and Oct. 4-25. Is it really practical to avoid planning, travel, commerce, communications and electronics three months out of the year? Gods, I wish it was!

There are two camps of astrologers out there (and this sort of applies to divination in general): those who think that the swirling planets and stars are causing crazy shit to happen here on earth, and those who think the swirling plants and stars give us cause for understanding the crazy shit down here. I guess I’m in the latter, but I also don’t think any card I might pull for you is carved into the rock balls of fate either. In other words, there’s a whole spectrum between fatalist and humanistic astrology.

Let’s take a long, hard look at what we’re freaking out about here. Doesn’t it just always make sense to give yourself some extra time when you’re scurrying around from here to there? Make sure the oil is changed? Save your Word documents and back up to Dropbox regularly? Double check your contacts list before you send that naughty selfie to Grandma instead of your boyfriend?

The 21st Century might as well be Retrograde.


I don’t think it’s helpful to consider the doom and gloom of any particular planet, sign, card or energy present. It doesn’t help anyone actualize to avoid bidding on their dream home, after all. Instead we might consider that a Mercury Rx period is a good time to get some cozy self-reflection done and  have long, delicious conversations with ourselves. It’s a good time to reevaluate the role that electronics play in our lives, how we use social media and text messaging for communication, and decide whether that’s in line with the sorts of relationships we want to maintain. And yes, slow down, double check, save and back-up.

But do that stuff the other nine months of the year also.

On Kissing Frogs

should a certain
quite adorable princess
be walking in her garden
at such a time
and toss her golden ball
up like a bubble
and drop it into the well?
It was ordained.
Just as the fates deal out
the plague with a tarot card.
(Ann Sexton, “The Frog Prince” from Transformations)

“Horrid Old Thing”, thought the princess… (Illustration by Anne Anderson)

And so the story goes that a frog heard her weeping and offered his assistance in fetching her favorite bauble on the condition that she promises he may sit at her dinner table, eat from her plate and sleep in her bed. Thinking (or not-thinking, depending on your perspective) the frog couldn’t leave the water, she agreed. “Anything for my pretty toy!” The frog makes good on his end of the deal and the princess learns that a promise made in vain is still a promise.

Princesses are problematic. My daughter puts on a swishy dress and dances through the doorway, “I’m a princess!” she exclaims.

Princesses, I’ve discovered, are the standard to which young girls measure femininity. It’s not surprising — I understand the appeal of these beautiful little waifs with the prettiest things and the catchiest of theme songs. I don’t recall if the princess phenomenon was such a force in my own adolescence, I only know that I view it now with skepticism at best and abhorrence at worst. I can, as a mother, only issue warnings, “Don’t kiss frogs.”

In Grimm’s version, she doesn’t kiss the frog. The frog enters her dining room and sits at her table. He eats off her plate. And finally, demands entrance to her bedchamber. The King holds his daughter to this strange pact, so she carries the frog upstairs. The idea of sleeping with the frog is so repulsive to the princess that she dashes him against the wall — and in that moment he turns into a handsome prince.

In other versions, the frog-tossing is removed, along with a good deal of the princess’s agency. English audiences were treated to a rendition where the frog sleeps in the bed of the princess for three nights — and on the third he transforms into the handsome prince. Of course she has to marry him now (good thing he’s suddenly handsome, and a prince).

The kissing scene seems to have been added later. And the fickleness and falseness of the young princess is replaced by a sort of courageous sympathy that is rewarded when her kiss becomes the impetus for the transformation. The frog gets what he wants. The princess gets what she wants. Is kissing a frog really so bad? Maybe so, if you’re a princess.

Which tale do we tell? The one where the princess uses her charm and beauty to exploit others? The one where the frog offers to help a crying woman so long as she agrees to sleep with him? The one where she is so remorseful about her poor decisions that she commits a rather terrible act of violence?

Should the King have sheltered his daughter from the consequences of her choice? To what end should we keep to a promise? What if he never turned into a prince? What kind of a prince can this frog really be? Why does he accept her, knowing that her vanity prevents her from seeing the true nature of others?

In the end I’m not sure what to tell my children. Except maybe we’re all frogs and we’re all princesses. We all use people. We manipulate. We tell lies. We regret the things we say without consideration. We give ourselves away without thinking. We are all capable of violent outbursts when we’re forced into a corner. And we all change. We transform. And we go on. Ever after.


I’m a fortune teller. Want to know your fortune?

I had just come off an amazing teaching opportunity and experience at The Tarot School’s Readers Studio. I was gifted the chance to deliver a study group on Lenormand cartomancy.

My session was set for Saturday evening. The last night of the conference, right after the formal banquet (I wore a dress. And high heels. I looked hot. I digress). The conference may have been about tarot, but I had long sensed this shift in the metaphysical tide. I started learning and then creating Lenormand oracles because my clients had questions that I wasn’t able to satisfactorily answer with a tarot deck. Of course the tarot is like a religion to me (or at least as close as I’ll probably ever poke one with a long stick…) But when I read for people and they have questions about love, money, sex, work, their kids, their pets, their parents, many of them don’t want spiritual counseling. They have no interest in enlightenment. They just want hard answers and the Lenormand is perfect for that.

I had told the class that when I stated with the Lenormand deck, I was just getting comfortable with the term “psychic”. Because I don’t read your thoughts. I have no idea (or interest in knowing) what your deepest darkest desires are (I mean, I have this idea and I’ll probably figure it out anyway throughout the course of a reading… but seriously, if that shit just ran like a feed loop in my brain I’d have to cut my head off. Really.). I’m not a medium in the sense that I channel spirits. I’m actually pretty dubious of spirits (other than Greygoose and only with a dash of tonic, thanks). And to be honest sometimes I’m even sketchy on “the future” (as in, whether or not it actually even exists). There I said it. But for all practical purposes, I’ve come to accept that psychic is as psychic does and I do the psychic thing, ya know?

At the same time, I used to hate hate HATE the phrase “fortune telling”. I even had it on my website. “I am not a fortune teller.” What do fortune tellers do? They make hard predictions about the future. Like specific things. But again, I found myself at times, despite myself, making hard predictions about the future. And still I was resisting this delicious facet of my self because of the fear of being WRONG.

I’ve since come to the realization that the future, in terms of right and wrong, exists on a plane of consciousness that is both simultaneous, experience-able, and mutable. That is, the right fortune and the wrong fortune happen whether I predict it or not (and I typically do) – because YOU CHOOSE your fortune. You experience the fortune I predict or fail to predict because YOU CHOOSE your fortune. And you have the ability to change your fortune with or without me because this is YOUR CHOICE to do so.

You come to me, the fortune teller, for answers to questions that plague you. What I do, what my capacity is as a fortune teller, is to give answers. Those answers comfort you or disturb you into action or path.

I am a fortune teller. Want to know your future? It’s YOUR CHOICE.

That is so powerful.

My experience, in New York City, in the midnight hours outside the Laguardia Hotel Marriot, having a fantastic conversation about ROLLER DERBY with an enchanting lady from the Czech Republic, was that a man who specializes in public relations happened to overhear us talking. He and his partner approached us, interest piqued about the roller derby thing (have I mentioned it’s awesome?) and we proceeded to chat for an hour and a half about life, the universe, everything and public relations. Our realization was that we’re in the same business.

And then he read my cards. Literally. I handed him some postcards I had printed up of the new deck I’m working on, the Wicked Sibyl, and he looked at the cards, looked at me and told me my fortune.

And I have to share that with you, because it’s been a theme that’s popped up for me since last year, and because what he told me completely scared the shit out of me (and he was literally some random guy on the street). And I know that when I get frightened, that’s when it’s getting real for me. That’s when I stop playing and make actual propelling decisions. I get my cards read frequently and had been the victim (willing) of so many card readings over the course of the weekend – but none had shook me like his words did – and when I realized that the soul-shaking bits of his talk were in the possibilities that he was able to unfold for me in the universe, it was revealing. I realized I was standing in front of the Magician. Le Bateleur. Il Bagatto. The Magus. He was mesmerizing. Only in New York City. Only in the deepest hours of the evening. And only outside some shitty hotel next to the airport, right?

Do you want to know what he told me? I’ll give you a little nugget.

He told me I was powerful. And he told me that it was my choice to utilize it, or live in fear. And I know I’ve heard this before, the “you are such a strong woman” stuff that people blah blah blah. And Kate Courageous, in the capacity as my life coach last year (another Magician!) was practically spoon-feeding me “YOUR CHOICE” and I didn’t catch on. Why does it take some kind of random chance encounter to shift my focus? I suppose I’m a bit of a Pareidoliac, though everyone in my profession is. In the course of one conversation, my life shifted from “I am trying to make this work” to “I work it.”

That subtle reframing was the choice I had been pushing up against. And now I’ve been adequately disturbed into action.

The moral of my story – Your fortune is your choice. Stand in that power and move with it. Don’t let fear of being wrong dictate who you really are.


On love and leaving (or burn, baby, burn!)

May the bridges I burn light the way. by Mike Monteiro

It would be a terrible movie. The girl. The guy. They meet, fall in love. Everything is delightfully simple. They communicate well. They don’t lay blame. They don’t project their issues. They overcome molehills before they become mountains. They simply hold each other as withmates, companions and lovers, and live happily ever after.

Terrible plot. Who wants to see that right? Except I do. But not in the movies—in the lives of my clients, friends, and what the hell, even myself!

It’s the numero ono topic I read cards about. “I’d like to know about my relationship,” they start out. And okay, I really don’t mind. We all want to be in love and be loved back – it’s pretty universal. And I totally get it. But then so many of my wonderful clients are in sour relationships and I gotta admit, I cringe—it breaks my heart and deadens my soul when I hear an otherwise intelligent, independent woman say to me,

“It’s just been so hard, there’s been so much drama, it just HAS to be right. I work SO HARD for this relationship. He MUST be the one.”

These are women in pain, it’s palpable and I feel it. I’ve been there. It’s been awful and harrowing and I couldn’t stop the hurt even when I was both in the midst of it and aware of it from the outside.

I hit a wall with this sometime in 2010. Had this realization about my life, my self, my soul, which was stifled and cold. It went like this: I woke up and realized that it was my life, my self, my soul, that was on the line. That’s about all the control I can maintain over this physical world, and I was squandering it, trying to fit into this relationship that was about two sizes too small.

So I guess you’re wondering if I knew all along that my marriage would end? Did I see it? Well, I can honestly tell you that I knew that my relationship was no longer serving me. That I was no longer growing in love, but rather, my ex and I had grown apart. I guess the real question becomes, if I would have known, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that my marriage would end, would that have changed the way I felt in the relationship? And the answer is probably not. I still would have fallen in love. I still would have gotten married. I would have said, Fuck you, Fate! This is awesome right now!

And you know what? While it lasted, it really was!

And then…

Have you ever read one of those “How to make your marriage/relationship work” books that go “You can totally change someone else!”


Because you can’t.

Further more, no one can change you. You can certainly change your standards, your values, your dreams or desires to better suit your significant other, but if you aren’t willing to do that, and you’re still banging your head against the wall of love, honey, you’re just banging your head against a wall.

Here are some universal truths for you:

  • You have a soul mate.
  • If you look deeply enough, you have about 6.91 billion soul mates.
  • No one is keeping you in an unsatisfying relationship except yourself (I’m not talking about abusive relationships here, if you are being abused physically, mentally or emotionally, please seek help! You deserve better!).
  • You are not required by the Universe to love until it hurts. Or because it hurts. When you are blissfully happy, no one is going to look down on you for walking away from a past relationship.
  • You can walk away. You can run away. You can even not look back.
  • You’ll be a better person for it.

I used to be one of those romantics that went down with the ship. If I was in love, that was it! I was sunk. And after talking to hundreds of women (and hey, even a few men!) about their problems, I’ve come to the conclusion that all that attitude gets you is sunk. Better to paddle a kayak all alone through the sea of love and oh baby, there are a lot of fish out there.

I’m not saying don’t fall in love. I’m not saying don’t fall head over heels in love. And I’m not saying that if you’re relationship is troubled it’s doomed. That’s the beauty of free-will. If it’s not in the cards, you’re free to fight against it or for it all you want. And that’s what I’m saying hereyou decide all that fighting stuff. The power to fight and the power to say, nope, not gonna fight, are all in your hands.

And when you realize that, the Universe opens up to you and the answers to the “Should I stay, should I go” questions become decidedly clear.

Getting Started with Lenormand

The Book from the Melissa LenormandSince creating the Melissa Lenormand I’ve had the opportunity to talk to many people about the cards. One of the most discouraging things I’ve heard in these conversations is, “The cards are beautiful, but I don’t know how to read Lenormand.”

And when we talk a little more about the subject, inevitably the conversation leads toward the Lenormand literature out there that give specific meanings for specific cards in specific combinations in specific spreads. While the idea of learning 36-cards isn’t terribly intimidating to anyone who has spent a lot of time with a 78-card tarot deck, the idea of learning so many combinations and memorizing and accessing those meanings on the fly during a reading can be really daunting.

It’s often said on web-forums that the Lenormand is more prescriptive than descriptive in it’s readings. Typically, it is said that one doesn’t “intuit” an answer based on a specific image in the card—rather, one simply internalizes what the card means — so any of the many varied Lenormand decks out there should give the same kind of reading.

I just can’t believe that’s true. The mood of the Melissa Lenormand is so different than the mood of one of the historical reproduction decks. Besides that, one shouldn’t have to internalize the meanings of symbols used in the Lenormand. They are already part of the dictionary of our symbolic language.

When I was creating my deck, I was struck by a few things that profoundly shaped my Lenormand philosophy.

The deck is modern. The originals were first published in the 1840s. We have a Rider in this deck — not a Knight or Page. There’s no religiosity except for the Cross card—which is more like the “secular cross” we talk about in America today. There is no color symbolism. There were no astrological correspondences drawn in the originals.

The images are immediate. I feel like the creators must have picked these 36 symbols because they were immediately accessible to people at the time. If the original reading systems were as arbitrary as some schools of thought suggest—why use such obvious symbols?

The beauty is in the simplicity. I feel really liberated when I do a Lenormand reading. The flavor is distinctly different and I read with a different style. Many people feel like the oracle is more direct—which is exactly why it has the reputation of being a fortune-teller-type deck. But even that is misleading. A deck of cards is what you make of them. If you use your Lenormand to predict what you’ll have for dinner tonight, that’s awesome and totally apt. If you use your Lenormand to examine the nature of the soul, that’s also a perfect use of the cards.

Don’t misunderstand what I’m saying though. I’m a firm believer that any system that you read with should have some kind of internal logic. To that end, I’ve devised a quick and dirty reading system. I’m posting the free Lenormand lessons here on the Sassy Sibyl so that people who have a Lenormand deck (and those who have one of my Lenormand decks specifically) can easily begin learning the cards. Dedicated Lenormand students should truly consider my Lenormand 101 course and my advanced Grand Tableau class, which includes video tutorials that break down every step and offer examples of how an actual reading goes.

Get started with Lesson 1: Introduction & Keywords. Or learn more about my full courses by clicking on the images below.

[ezcol_1half]How to read Lenormand Cards[/ezcol_1half] [ezcol_1half_end]How to Read The Grand Tableau[/ezcol_1half_end]

In the cards pt. 4

This is a series of blog posts about my life in tarot and my experiences as a tarot reader. The characters in the series are based on people I actually read for — sometimes I’ve combined traits and readings from more than one client into one character for the purpose of storytelling (just in case you’re a regular of mine and see a bit of yourself in here). I love all my clients and respect their privacy, so key names and details have been changed. I’d love to hear your feedback about this series and whether you’d like to hear more! Previous installments of the series can be found here.

I do have standards. Who I will read for, who I won’t. What I will read about, what I won’t. I’ve never read for men who were romantically interested in me. I don’t read for children or teenagers – only adults who are capable of taking personal responsibility for their choices and actions. I don’t read about medical conditions. I don’t like to read about legal matters, and to cover my bases now, I have to explain in plain English, that my readings are for entertainment only (imagine me spitting those words out). In the state of Ohio, I became an ordained minister of the Church of Universal Life (online) in order to provide “spiritual counseling”. I still have my certificate, that I printed out from the webpage (it even has the URL at the top), in a binder – just in case I’m ever hassled. In some states and counties, fortune telling, as they put it in the books, is completely illegal.

I read for myself all the time. This is probably the greatest benefit of reading cards – how you can use them for yourself. I don’t read compulsively on every decision I’m faced with. Instead I typically draw one to three cards a day, make some notes in my journal, and let myself be surprised by how Universe finds a way to place those cards in my path. Certain cards resonate with me so deeply. The Empress is the third card in the Major Arcana. She represents a feminine receptive energy, sensuality, sexuality, motherhood. She’s typically depicted as voluptuous or pregnant or surrounded by animals. Over the years I’ve connected with her raw sexual energy, her fertility and now, her store of womanly wisdom. I’m constantly amazed by the new lessons that the Empress teaches me. She’s a good friend of mine. I’ve even made photo-copies of that card from my favorite decks to tape to my bathroom mirror. She reminds me of the things I want to be and I’m grateful for her influence in my life.

I even read for other tarot readers. Thanks to the internet I’ve gotten to know many tarot readers all over the world and even form close friendships with a few. I read cards for them – partially out of professional courtesy, but also because I have a lot of guts. It can be intimidating to read for someone who is reading the cards in a completely different fashion as you’re throwing them on the table. And that’s part of the charm of tarot. Everyone has their own reading voice and style. Some readers claim to channel spirits. Some say they are psychic – in the very day-time television sense of the word. Others, like me, say that we’re just readers. That we’re energy consultants – and we open dialogues with the self that you might have otherwise shied away from.

Jan is another tarot reader. She works full-time in a dreadful retail position and does tarot consulting in her precious free time. She is one of my regular querents – often asking me for spiritual advice. She senses this great void in her life and longs for something to fill it up. Over the years I’ve been reading for her, we’ve worked on big questions she’s had – meaning of life kind of stuff. Her readings are typically intense, but incredibly satisfying for me – only because her attitude toward the cards is so open and she just loves to talk her way through one of my readings. It’s more fun when the sitter is engaged in the reading, asking questions and pointing out things in the cards I might have missed on my own. There’s no happier feeling for me than sitting over a spread of cards with a cup of coffee and a good friend with a soft, open heart.

Remember the girl from the beginning? The grad school question? There were five cards on the table, and I was pointing to each, in-between each and trying my best to figure out the cardinal directions from where I was sitting, as I explained to her what she might encounter if she chose one certain grad program over another. After I would finish up each one, she would smile and nod, her eyes bright and focused on the table. She didn’t say much while I was reading, just asking a few questions about the particulars of the cards. When I finished the reading, I let it sink in a few minutes while she continued her careful examination of the spread.

“Well, was it good?”

“Yes!” she smiled widely, “It was so good. It was so fun. It was… different than what I was expecting.”

Yes. The Universe usually is.