What a rude and insensitive description:

Out here in the field that’s beyond any judgment where I choose to live, I had an experience similar to the one of which Ms. Renee writes. When I was about 18 years old, my grandmother took me to see her friend, a “seer” named Bessie. Bessie’s trailer looked like a rusted tin can on wheels. She seemed to be very old (but she was probably only 50–10 years younger than I am now) and she wore a red bandana on her head (that grandma called a “babushka”). We sat on what may have been the oldest sofa in the universe, covered by the oldest blanket in the universe and there on the little table before us was a wire pyramid that had been placed over a plate of crackers and a dish of butter. A shiny silver knife separated the two items. Bessie offered us paper cups of warm water that to me, tasted salty. The experience was surreal. She read my palm, and read (interpreted?) some cards from a regular deck of cards (hearts, clubs, diamonds, spades). She wrote some notes for me with one of those little pencils supplied by libraries and golf courses on the back of a paper grocery receipt. Maybe, because I treated that receipt like a pharmacy fills a prescription, everything she’d written for me back then did happen and even is happening still…but I’ve still to meet the person named “Wanda” who is supposed to be a very, very important figure in my life. Perhaps I’ll name my new money toad “Wanda.”

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