It's in the cards

Did I ever mention that I read tarot cards?  I learned how, back in school a million years ago, and now every once in a while I dust the cards off and do a few readings so I don't forget how.

Last weekend the rescue was having a sidewalk sale/bake sale/adoption event extravaganza, and I offered to do individual card readings as a fundraiser.

The first thing I do when reading cards is to explain that it's for entertainment only.  That I am not a psychic, and that it's all for fun.  That there is a certain skill level involved in learning what the cards mean and how they interact with each other, but that at least when *I* read the cards, there is no mysticism involved. 

People were asking questions about work situations and family stuff and relationships, and it was all well and good until an obviously upset woman sat down at my table.

Her husband had died, she said.  Two weeks ago.  She was fairly certain that he would have lived longer had his brother not pulled the plug against her wishes.  And now the brother was trying to screw her out of money.  And she accidentally killed her cat.  and and and

Holy. F*ck.

This woman was deeply grieving and terribly upset.  I consoled her the best I could, and explained that what she needed wasn't a reading.  She needed to be taking care of herself.  I urged her to get counseling, and to lean on those around her.  I ... felt pretty helpless, actually.

In the end, she wanted a reading.  That was a lot of fun.  Gah.  I read her cards, and told her what I thought might console her, and gave her a great big hug.  She seemed more composed by the time she left, but I'm still thinking about that woman and what she was going through.

I didn't do any more readings that day.  I couldn't.

And I think it might be a while before I pick up the cards again.