Dowsing for Men
Photo by mrbill
I highly suspect that my kids aren’t growing up in a normal boring household in suburbia. How can I call anything paranormal when it’s all pretty normal for me? And if my kids have a warped sense of who I am—or what others might consider warped—it probably started when they were little.
“Mommy, my friend’s daddy is a foot doctor and he’s very important. Are you important?”
“Sure am,” I used to tell the girls.
“What do you do?” they’d ask.
“Me? Oh, I slay dragons.”
The fact that I loved to play with swords lent to my credibility, but who was to say it wasn’t so? Some days certainly felt that way.
Now my conversations are a bit more surreal and yet we understand each other perfectly. For example, this conversation with my teen while off on a walk….
Shannon: Can you wear a bra in space?
Me: Yes, but it’s not as important.
Shannon: Have you talked to any men you like this week?
Me: Nah. I’m waiting to wake up covered in ladybugs.
Shannon: Or at least one. (a reference to Under a Tuscan Sun)
Shannon: Wow, I just got a chill.
Me: Yeah, it was just a breeze off the marsh over there. It wasn’t The Dead.
Shannon: (shrugging) Yeah, I know.
Me: When we get back, I need you to do some chores.
Shannon: Okay, but first I have to find last year’s school schedule.
Me: Do you know where it is?
Shannon: No. It’s somewhere in the office.
Me: I know it was in the basket to be filed, but I don’t know if you filed it or not.
Shannon: I filed it but I don’t remember what I filed it under. (after a couple of minutes) Do you think I could find it with your dowsing rods?
Me: Maybe. (after a couple of minutes) Do you think if I walked into a bar with my dowsing rods that I could find a good man with them?
Me: Let’s try them on your missing files first. If it works, you know where I’ll be.