Into the Mystic

When Phil and I were just knee-high and dating, his family visited us in San Antonio. We took them on the obligatory Riverwalk boat ride. As we stepped onto the boat, a lady of Asian descent grabbed Phil's hand.

She turned it palm-side up and declared, "Ooh, you very independent." while pointing at his love line. She quickly snatched up my paw, looked into my eyes, and said, "Are you married to he?" I shook my head. We were "only" living together. "Ah. You concentrate on love." Then she clucked at us and went on her way.

That was the first time I had my palm read.

She was right. I do concentrate on love. My relationships with Phil, my family, my son, and my friends are the highest priority for me. Sometimes I must remind myself of that. After all, the line of love stretches between my index and "F you" fingers. How appropriate, don't you think? The love line sometimes ends between the pointer finger ("Come here, you big brute...") and the one we use quite liberally to express our distaste. Phil's love line goes straight across his brutish palm.

I have a battle in my head over various alternative health and mystical practices. I am a trained scientist. I was taught to practice hypothesis, research, conclusion. The proof must be in the pudding, or it just don't stick. On the flip side, I have an attraction to the things that are just a wee bit out there. I suppose that is part of the reason I started a natural bodycare company. I based it in science but slathered it in aromatherapy and herbs. I am the bastard child of Mr. Spock and Moonbeam Starshine.

In my science days, I worked with many people who are Chinese or first-generation American Chinese. I learned about Chinese medicine, acupuncture, and various other things that many people sniff their noses at. As one lady told me, "In China, if you break a bone, you go to the hospital. If it is not broken, you go to the Chinese medicine doctor." She had lots of wise and wacky quotes for me, my favorite of which involved the consumption of cats and dogs: "In southern China, the joke is that they eat everything with legs except the table." Ah, Lily, how I miss you.

So, more to the point, at various times I read up on alternative thingies. I had my future predicted by a psychic/tarot card lady in New Orleans and by someone's Korean grandmother based on my birth date, time, and location. This was back in the 90s. Both agreed that I would have a child, a boy. He would be the greatest love I've ever known, and we will have the closest and most loving relationship I've ever experienced. I found that hard to believe at the time, knowing Phil's feelings (at the time) about kids and the immense love I feel for him. Now I know better. Becoming a mother is a mind-blowing experience, to say the least.

Another Chinese coworker told me about how some lines on the hand predict how many children you will have and whether or not you are a good lover. If you make a fist and then look at the pinky side of your fist, you may or may not see a short line or lines at the top of your palm. Not at the joint of the finger, but just below that. My right hand shows two lines, my left hand shows one. If I am to believe this, my hands are not in agreement. Perhaps I can soothe the Chinese palm readers by admitting to two miscarriages before Amos arrived. That adds up to three, right?

Where I do think the Chinese predictions may run true is in the lover department. Look at your hand. See the spaces between your fingers? Now look at the palm just below those spaces. Supposedly, if you have fleshy mounds on that part on the palm between the fingers, then you are a great lover. If the area is sunken, then you are a dud. I found that to be hilarious. I quizzed all of my laboratory coworkers. Some had sunken palms, others had semi-fleshy spots. The sunken palms admitted to being lazy and selfish lovers. I declared, "I can't wait until I see Phil's hands! I BET you he has HUGE fleshy palms!!" They all rolled their eyes at me and continued to transfer invisible bits of DNA from one tube to the next.

Phil picked me up that day. I immediately swooped upon him and snatched up his hands, just like the lady on the boat.

"AHA!" I yelled. "It's YOU that concentrates on love!"

Indeed, Phil has the fleshiest, most delicious fat palm spots you ever did see. I told you so.

So, I don't know what the point of this post is, except to make you feel insecure and have the need to check your own fleshy or non-fleshy paws. You're welcome.

(And yes, mine are quite fleshy. The love line said so. Rawr.)