A skeptic realizes her future is indeed in the cards

Sunday, April 20, 2008

It’s so good this province has done away with mandatory retirement — because, apparently, I will live into my mid- to late-90s.

And, since that kind of longevity never figured into my retirement plans, KTW is going to be home for many, many, many more years — news I’m sure will delight my bosses.

My husband and I are going to have a large number of grandchildren, I’m told.

Great. More people to visit in those many years of senior citizenship — and they won’t be able to say no because we’ll be the pater and mater familias, due massive amounts of respect.

All this is predicted by Mrs. Marra, also known as Psychic Marra, a Burnaby woman who claims to be a fifth-generation gypsy and who looks like she just stepped out of central casting.

The hair is long, black, flowing.

There’s the ever-present cigarette, complete with gold holder and, although the air doesn’t reek of it, smoke is definitely noticeable.

The tarot cards are worn, but not so worn that they’ll interfere with seeing the future, apparently.

In a nod to consumerism, there’s a sign proclaiming 90 per cent accuracy and, of course, customer satisfaction.

And into this comes me, a “skepticynic,” as my husband describes me, who for reasons that defy logic, decided it might be kinda cool to find out if there’s any reason to start buying lottery tickets.

“Do you want a palm reading or tarot cards,” Mrs. Marra asked at the West Coast Amusements carnival that came to town last week.

What’s the difference?

“If you have problems in your life, the tarot is better.”

Who doesn’t have issues? I asked her. She smiled what would be described in the movie script as a “meaningful, world-weary smile” and picked up the deck.

My son, who was wondering what his mother had dragged him into this time, just gave that look only a teenager can muster.

She had me shuffle the deck and think about the one question I wanted answered.

“I see you are recovering from a serious illness,” she said.

Good guess. Anyone my age has pretty good odds of having had some sickness at some point in recent years.

Skepticism level is rising.

“You have love in your life.”

The wedding ring may have been a hint, along with the son’s presence.

Skepticism level goes up again.

“You are worrying about your daughter.”

Yup — wait a minute.

Who told you I have a daughter?

“You are worrying about her job. She has lofty goals but always seems to fall short.

She now has my attention.

“Do not worry about her. She will be fine and she will accomplish all her goals before you know it.

“And you have a wedding coming up. You have doubts about this as well. Do not worry. The female [her word] is going to be very good for your son.”

Son? Who told her my middle son is getting married — and yes, I have all those concerns a mother has when a child barely out of his teens announces wedding intentions to someone you’ve only met once.

I told my 21-year-old about this, thinking he’d be delighted to know that happiness had been predicted for him. He sighed that sigh my children make often when I talk to them and asked why I hadn’t found out if he was getting a promotion.

Oops, didn’t think about that. After all, this is my future, not his.

I find myself leaning in now.

“You are having many strange dreams right now.”

OK, Mrs. Marra, you’re back into movie-script mode here — although I am remembering my truly bizarre dreams more often these days.

“You should listen to your dreams. They are telling you something.”

What? That I really will be shipwrecked on an island where the local tribe is run by my weird cat that hisses whenever I come near her. She is apparently an Egyptian spirit caught in a feline body.

But then Mrs. Marra left the script again and took one giant leap into things that have happened in my past that no one knows about.

Nothing dramatic or controversial, just weird stuff that doesn’t happen to everyone and about which I don’t talk because, well, I get tired of the sighs and rolled eyes from the family.

And for several minutes she told me things about my past that she shouldn’t have known.

I’m the one shaking my head now.

“And that question you wanted answered” — she tells me it.

She’s got it right.

“This will happen in the next year.”

She hands me her business card.

“I’m in Burnaby. Come see me if you’re there.”

And I wonder: she can tell me my future, but she doesn’t know if I’ll be coming to Burnaby?

dale@kamloopsthisweek.com