Wishbones

     The peculiar, although amusing, ritual of using the breastbone of a turkey (generally) to make a wish follows many holiday feasts in my part of the world. Two people grip opposite ends of the curved bone in their fingertips and pull. The wish is supposed to be granted to the person left holding the larger half.

     The only specific wish I remember making as a very young child was that I would end up holding the biggest piece, which (if I won) miraculously always came true ... much to my amazement and delight.

     I'll admit that I've never been clear on the concept of what entity possesses the power to make this wishful thinking materialize. The mental image of a 25-pound turkey waving a magic wand in its wing while attired in a ruffled tutu doesn't exactly inspire credibility. Regardless, the downside to this custom is that only one participant 'receives'; the other is left holding nothing but a broken stub.

     What if you and I asked for gifts that benefited us both? One of my readers expressed her desire on Facebook that everyone receive her wish for more "love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control." I could certainly use an extra dose of those qualities.

     So ... take hold of your visionary wishbone with me. Ready? Pull! *SNAP*

     Happy New Year, World!

Time Capsules

     The following question was posted on Facebook earlier this month: "Why is it that the majority of this year seemed to fly by, but now that I want it to last for a long time it is flying by?"

     There was a haunting quality to this which caught and held my attention, realizing my friend is coping with her final moments with a very close relative. My desire was to respond, to let her know someone was listening and cared about the situation, without invading the veil of her privacy in a public forum.

     "I think you'd have to pose that one to Einstein," I wrote (as I briefly contemplated theories of time travel), "Every minute is precious, but when we begin counting them they become finite."

     Yet her question and my 25-words-or-less response are still resurfacing from my subconscious daily, demanding more of my attention. So ... I'm listening again. I've concluded that it's the numbered minutes ticking away (within my own life experience), that I'm not aware of which presently concern me the most. Those capsules of measured time leading to a final second when something unforeseen occurs, leaving no time left to say what should have been said all along, over and over, including: I love you, you are important in my life, and ... I'm listening to your heart.