In Other, Not Infertility-Related, News

And this — THIS — is a typical afternoon for me:

My Mom calls me at the office, even though I’m frantically trying to get out of here on time and finish packing.  Like an idiot I pick up the call.

Me:  Hullo?

My Mother:  Well, what is BeBop going to do about his job interviews?

Me:  He is going back for another round of interviews today, and then will probably decide between Company A and Company B when he gets more information.

Mom:  OH!  We’ll ask the wire.  She says to her friend: "Ask the wire about Company A vs. Company B."

Me:  The what?

Mom:  THE WIRE…the whirley gig! She says, exasperated that once again I don’t know what in the frigging hell she is talking about.

Me:  The wha…??

Mom:  THE DOWSING ROD (she says like I am a total freaking moron).

Me:  Oh, THAT.

Me:  Audible sigh.

(Crickets.)

(On her end of the line, her friend is holding one end of a metal dowsing rod, a short pole bent at a 90 degree angle that spins either clockwise or counter clockwise; one direction  means ‘yes’ and the other direction means ‘no.’) (You know, according to the dowsing experts out there.)

Mom:  It’s saying comme si comme ca.

Me:  Why are you speaking French?

Mom:  Pay attention!  The wire is saying he could take either offer but Company B seems to be a bit stronger.  The wire is really going crazy now!

Me:  Okkaaaayyyy…thanks for the advice.

Mom:  Bye!  Call us later and tell us if the wire was right!!

Welcome once again to MY.CRAZY.LIFE.

As a postscript, my Mom got her ‘wire’ from a man named Joe, who is like 150 years old.  She met him at a conference back in 80s when he was giving a class on using dowsing rods for divining purposes.  He comes to family events and is so old, with such a tentative grasp on reality, that she has to reintroduce each one of us every single time.  He likes to call my friends by different names, like he’ll say "hello Pamela" to my friend Michelle who he has just met.  When we say, "Ah, Joe, her name is MICHELLE,"  he’ll say, "Well, her soul name is Pamela so I’ll call her that." 

And then?

Then he’ll bust out the dowsing rod and it will start spinning around a million miles an hour.  He’ll say that she (Michelle/Pamela) needs a healing, which sends my mother into screeching fits of happiness, as if she is about to literally witness the second coming of Jesus Christ.  Whirley Gig Joe (as he’s affectionately known as) will then ‘heal’ Michelle/Pamela of a future case of breast cancer that she’s now not going to have, thanks to him.

So just to recap, here’s the scene at any given family BBQ:  100+ year old Whirley Gig Joe spinning his wire around my friend’s chestal area while she stands there, horrified, being called a different name, while my mother practically weeps with relief that she’s being healed, right there in her very own kitchen.

Then there’s the time my mom dragged me over to his condo for a ‘healing’ and while he whirled the dowsing rod around and around, talking about some trauma I experienced 1500 years ago (it might have had something to do with a horse I think)  a squirrel sauntered in the front door and began snacking on nuts he had left on the kitchen counter.  And this alarmed no one.  But me.

Yes. Good times, people.  GOOD TIMES.