m's visit to same psychic (in her words)

It has been 18 years since I last saw her.  It was a brief encounter — 20 minutes— but she nailed a few unobvious things about me.  I’ve thought about her a few times since and was happy to see she is still “practicing” (if that’s what one calls it).

Trolling for something to do with Lyn when she comes to town, I suggest we drive the hour and a half north to Portsmouth, New Hampshire. 

Lyn and I walk into the second floor office space Betty occupies in a building of earthy-crunchy types.  The bathroom walls are painted with clouds and bear an inscription from a Chinese philosopher — something about freeing yourself of earthly possessions.   I think it is ironic given the overpriced health food store on the first floor and Betty’s $50 fee for 30 minutes.

Betty’s waiting room is like Tchatchke Central…magical candles, stones of all shapes and colors to channel focus, energy, etc.  I can hear my mother’s voice in my head, “I’d like to take a match to this place.”

Betty comes out and immediately recognizes me, saying, “We’ve met before.”  I say, "Yes, 1994 at an office event in Boston."  Lyn is impressed.

I offer to have Lyn go first, not because of any magnanimity on my part but I want to test how much the person in the waiting room can hear when the other person is having her reading done.  I know Lyn will tell me (and all of you) everything that goes on in her session, but there are certain things about my life I want NO ONE to know.

I walk over to the tacky stone pendants and pretend to seriously consider purchasing them, my body tilted at a 45-degree angle and my right ear pressed against the door.  I hear Betty say something to Lyn about ”…an ethnic guy, but he’s really nice, right?” and Lyn respond “Oh, yes, that’s Alexander’s grandfather, he’s very nice”.  It is like overhearing Dorothy and the Wizard pre-tornado.

After Lyn, I walk into the little room and immediately see a tv camera which is recording everything going on in the waiting room.  I am busted.  Betty has to have seen my acrobatic maneuver by the door.

Betty opens our session with a kicker:

Betty: “Who died recently….past 2-3years?

Me: It’s a long list. Can you be more specific?

Betty: Who was closest to you?

Me: My mother. That was three years ago December.

Betty: She wants you to know she’s fine now.  She says she looks much younger.  There’s a woman there—a sister? A friend?—who wants her to play cards, but she doesn’t want to …she’d rather be doing things.

Me:  What kind of things?

Betty:  Working, chores, like laundry, ironing.  (Bingo. My mother’s favorite activity, ironing!  Only my mother would prefer this to eternal rest.  Now we’re back in business and I’m believing in Betty again).

Betty asks if I am of Italian descent…Abruzzese.  Yes, how did you know, I ask?  “Your mother just told me.” Okay, now there are three of us in that little room.  It is getting crowded.

Betty says I was supposed to have had two husbands.  I tell her I still have the one.  She asks how his health is.  I say great.  She asks if he had done something recently to get healthier.  I say he lost 30 pounds on Weight Watchers (but he had no prior health problems).  She says, “He averted a health issue by doing that,”….meaning, I won’t be getting a second husband.  I am a little curious, however, as to what Hubby #2 would be like.  My mind starts to wander as I picture a blue-collar Italian contractor.  Someone to do chores around the house.

The rest of the session is fine, if uneventful.  She asks me if I want my health assessment and I say, “Not particularly.” But she has me stand and holds my right wrist as she closes her eyes.  Then she tells me to sit down again.

Betty: Okay, you’re okay.  No problems except for your knees.

Me: Well, I do have sore knees all the time.

Betty: Yeah, but I KNOW you aren’t going to have surgery so you can forget about that. (Spot-on, sister).

My two sons are fine, one will make a lot of money, the other will live nearby.  

Betty wants me to come back soon for another reading….oh, and go out to lunch with her.  I think she wants us to be friends.  Hmm.  Lunch with a psychic.  Could be better than a fortune cookie at the end of a meal.

As I am getting ready to leave, Betty says, “Oh, one more thing.”

Me: Yes?

Betty: Do you write?

Me: Everybody writes.  What do you mean?

Betty: You’re supposed to be writing.  Get writing.

I leave wondering if this is some cheap trick by Lyn to get me back to blogging.