Magic Everywhere!

Time was, magic was feared as the embodiment of evil. Feared, that is, until conventional wisdom somehow downgraded it to frivolity, all card tricks and smoke and mirrors. Either way, no self-respecting person would admit to seriously believing. So, what changed? Magic has been pushing itself into the zeitgeist for a few years now, at least since 1997 when Harry Potter burst onto millions of pages and, subsequently, movie screens. If Harry Potter is responsible for the resurgence of magic, that’s more a testament to the magic of J. K. Rowling’s pen than to the perceived power of magical incantations.

I’ve always considered myself to be a non-believer. Haven’t even read Harry Potter. Of course, I would have to have been living under a rock not to have Harry Potter and his magic somewhere near the forefront of my consciousness. I mean, four years ago, I even named my new kitten “Potter”! That doesn’t necessarily make me a believer in magic. Admittedly, I do love fantasy, however. Stories full of dragons, fairies, and elves have long been my secret pleasure. Part of it is a deep, wistful longing that magic in a supernatural sense actually exists. That longing spars with the comparably deep certainty that it doesn’t.

If it’s not real, then WHY is magic everywhere? Not abracadabra, hocus pocus, rabbits pulled out of hats, illusionary magic. I mean literally the word “magic.” Has it always been there?  As I’ve said, magic has been growing in popular culture for a while. Years. But just over the past few months I’ve been seeing the word “magic” increasingly often. I’m not looking for it, but the universe seems to be sending it.

You might think I’m crazy (superfluous Cars reference), but, like many other people, I believe the universe (or loved ones in the afterlife or God, if you prefer) sends messages. My sister-in-law, for instance, often finds heart-shaped stones and beach glass that she believes are messages from my late niece. Other people see butterflies, dragonflies, hummingbirds, rainbows, or some other sign that their loved-one’s spirit still lingers. I, myself, see multiple 11s everywhere that I don’t remember seeing until after my husband passed away over five years ago.

When I first began pondering the apparent resurgence of magic as a concept, I came to realize magic has been a background thread in my life since at least high school, when my boyfriend and I considered Jay and the Americans’ “This Magic Moment” to be our song. But I’ve only started seeing “magic” multiple times per day fairly recently. And not just in logical contexts, like when I’m listening to The Cars and their song “Magic” comes up on my playlist. No, I mean out of the blue references, like when I’m researching treason and stumble upon a book called “Magic as a Political Crime.” Or when I get an emailed ad from a tee shirt store, and the ad features a shirt saying “Black Moms are Magical.”  Or when researching morticians for a possible upcoming blog post, Parke’s Magic Valley Funeral Home pops up.

Why is this happening? What message, exactly, is the universe sending?


Although I’ve been trying capture my thoughts about magic for weeks now, the impetus to finish this draft comes from Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt “-ic or -ical.” So, giving credit where credit due, even if my technique isn’t on point.

As a bonus, here’s Jay and the Americans’ “This Magic Moment” (from WABCRADIO77’s You Tube account because that’s what we were listening to at the time):

Stream of Consciousness Saturday: Bodily Functions

For the better part of today, my brain has been working in the background, mulling over  Stream of Consciousness Saturday’s prompt “bodily function.”  To be honest, I guess I must be sort of prudish, because all I could think of was bodily functions that are usually not discussed in polite company. (Thank you, Emily Post. You probably don’t remember her. She was the original etiquette queen. Waaaay before Miss Manners came along. But I digress.) Despite my prudishness, my biggest laugh today was reading Fandango’s take on the subject on his This, That, & the Other blog. He chose farts. You’re laughing now, too, I bet. Go read it; you’ll laugh even harder.

Anyhooo, part of my mulling was about autonomous bodily functions, those you really have no control over. (That does NOT include farting, because, as everyone knows, you can hold that in, for quite a while with practice. Again, digressing.) I mean something like blinking. Since this is SoC, I think it’d be cheating to leave now and do a little research, but I think the main reason for blinking is to keep your eyeballs hydrated. Every blink spreads a layer of useful tears.

Did you ever have a blinking contest when you were a kid? Or when an adult with a kid? Or when a drunk adult? Like farts, you can control blinking for quite a while (not as long as farts). Sooner or later, however, you lose control and blink. In my experience it’s sooner rather than later. I think it’s partly because my eyes need a LOT of hydrating but also because once I start thinking I can’t do something, if it’s a rule or a law, I can’t stop thinking about doing it. Like telling someone not to think about elephants. (Try THAT.) My will power tends to break down pretty quickly. Plus, it’s just my nature to buck authority.

The blinking game ends when the first person blinks. That person lost the game. Although the game is usually for fun, sometimes the stakes are high. For instance, first person to blink has to run around the block, or load the dishwasher for a week, or become a hostile foreign leader’s lap dog/puppet/patsy.

Photo credit “The Staring Contest” by Anthony Letmon; found on Wikimedia Commons

Stream of Consciousness Saturday — T, tea, tee

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Sighing, she dropped the laundry basket next to the ironing board. She filled the iron’s reservoir with distilled water and plugged it in.  The shrill whistle from the kettle reminded her that she intended to relax with a cup of tea and a nice buttered english muffin before starting the ironing. She truly hated to iron. Am I the only woman in America who still irons tee shirts, she wondered? Almost as if he heard her thoughts, he bounded down the stairs.

“Didja iron my shirt yet, ma?”

“I’m waitin’ for the steam. Have some tea and an english muffin with me in the meantime.”

Sitting silently together, they ate their meal. She cleared the table and started the ironing while he lost himself in a video game on his phone. She was working on the third shirt when he looked up to find out her progress.

“Didja finish my shirt yet, ma?”

“Three so far. Take your pick.”

“Don’t need any of those. I need my Dunkin’ shirt for work. Can ya hurry it up, ma? The T ain’t gonna wait for me.”

Muttering to herself, “should have taught the boy to iron his own shirts,” she quickly ran the iron over the orange and pink tee. Grabbing the shirt, he gave her a quick kiss. “Thanks, ma, you’re the best! Gotta run. See ya at supper.”


228 words. Written in response to Linda G. Hill’s SoCS prompt.


Hey, bro! ‘Sup? Coming to supper? I suppose. C’mon, support my culinary efforts. Moral support? Financial support? Either way, better than support hose. More like, what you call ’em, those support walls that hold the whole house up. The ones that have support beams? Yeah, those are support walls. Free-standing, unlike supply chains. One link drops out, and support is gone. What’s the economic name for that? Supply-side economics? Trickle down economics? Aw, just take a couple vitamin supplements. That’ll supplement the break in the chain. What ARE you talkin’ ’bout? All I asked is if you’re coming to supper!

Response to Linda G. Hill's Stream of Consciousness Saturday