Turtle is getting to the age where she can start to make magic.
When I was in primary school, my classmate Bryan introduced me to a great set of books about a boy and a lady who may or may not have been a witch. Mrs Graymalkin was old, wise, and never intervened too early in Kerby’s troubles, until he learned as much as he could on his own first. I loved Scott Corbett’s “Trick” books, and admired Mrs Graymalkin. I wanted to be like her.
In my teens, my stated ambition was to grow old enough to pass from being weird to being eccentric.
Just about there now.
My first Trick, this week, was turning a magical 49 (seven times seven) the day after I turned 16.
Friday was my birthday; Thursday, I passed my driver’s test. The woman at Service New Brunswick performed magic of her own, taking my G-1 license and making the restrictive “-1” disappear. Poof! Now I can drive with one passenger, two or three passengers, or no passengers at all.
On Friday morning, I went down to the cellar for a few moments, and when I came upstairs, E.g., too, had pulled some magic: Poof! A largeish box, wrapped in cheery blue bug-strewn paper, sat on the coffee table.
You can see the contents in the photo above.
They’re work clothes. A lined canvas vest, a hooded jacket, sturdy painter’s pants, various upper layerings, and a thick pair of socks.
As many of you know, last autumn I did quite a lot of basic landscaping here at home. As some of you (E.g.’s family members who tune in here) may know, this summer I’ve been doing a little yardwork — pruning, painting, stump removing — for E.g.’s parents, Rose and Eddy. Eddy calls me “a dab hand with a saw”, which makes me all smiley inside.
Now I have work clothes. And a little car. And a license.
And so, for a few moments, my low-level chronic depression?