Go big or do nothing at all

I pop in to see Bakerman after work to cheer him up and to check on how sick he really is. Het is not going well at all, temperature running high and a vague expression on his face. His body and his entire being is clearing his energy field of all the negativity that has accumulated. What I am about to hear is going to call the beginning of a brand-new era in our lives.

“Oh hi,” I greet him as I bustle into his bakery atelier. “My conf call turned out to be postponed. And I’m a bit late.”

“Better than never,” Bakerman smiles meekly, happy to see me.

“So my mother, positive evolution?” I ask him cutting straight to the chase.

“I am going to have a slice of cake and a big cup of tea now,” Bakerman skuttles around his workplace slowly gathering deliciously smelling items. “Do you want some?”

“Yesss please. Chocolate cake?” I am looking around at all the tempting things he has concocted. “Wim is going to start a blog too now. Fun huh.”

“I don’t know,” Bakerman has his back to me as he is shaking and trying carefully to prepare two big mugs of fresh tea. “My job is to help you look at alternatives instead of a single point of view that may or may not be correct.”

“Mmmm lost me,” I sigh as I take a big bite of the chocolate creamy cake he just placed in front of me. “Great cake though.”

“What was the whole reading for your mom?” Bakerman turns to face me now holding out a hot steamy mug of tea. I accept his offer quickly afraid he might spill half of the hot brew in his clumsy sickness.

“She’s financially well off but can’t see it,” I start recounting what the story of my wild unknown tarot cards. “She reaps what she sows with me and my brother. Too much in control. A big change is coming, sudden. And she’ll be upset. But it’s a blessing in disguise. In two years she will meet a new love interest. I told her to do AirBnB for extra income. Or English conversation. Or cake workshops. How to make a blue cake for instance. Hope renewed. Connect to the force within.”

“Was she not an accountant or something?” Bakerman asks as he slowly stirs his tea with a small dainty spoon.

“No she was an administrative assistant at the army,” I tell him. That translates into less than a secretary. “She liked to pretend she was very important.”

“Oh,” Bakerman shrugs as he takes a first sip of his tea.

“And she liked to copy the military,” I could go on forever on details regarding my mother. “She said she never saved for her pension. Can anybody really be so reckless?”

“Yes sure,” Bakerman nods at me unblinkingly.

“She says she only has one income,” I go over the inconsistencies with my best friend. “Does this mean my brother doesn’t contribute to paying the costs of living at home?”

“Of course not,” Bakerman laughs. “Your mother should have put him in a special nursing home years ago.”

“Haha,” I enjoy a good laugh. “Yes she should. I think he only works part time. Lazy sod.”

“The best way to treat your brother is to get him help in finding a job and keeping it then throw him out,” Bakerman eyes me coolly from his puffy red face.

“My mother will never throw him out,” I shake my head looking down at the tea mug resting in my lap. “I told her she should get him to move on. But always excuses.”

“She knows he can’t survive on his own,” Bakerman mocks.

“Yup,” I sigh.

“Make sure you teach your kids the value in achievement,” Bakerman warns me.

“I do all the time,” I smile back at him. “And they do chores.”

“Discipline is very good for kids,” Bakerman confirms.

“Yes I dont want morons like my brother,” I pull a funny face as I think of that genetic failure.

“Does he know he is the village idiot in Turnpoint Mountains?” Bakerman hears all the gossip in town as people come and go in his bakery. “There is another one very similar in Emelo Woods too. Guy is 40 and never worked a day in his life. Lived at home from birth.”

“I don’t think so,” I go on thinking deeply. My mother would have said something if it were the case. “Some call him ‘bambi’. My mother thinks that’s endearing somehow.”

“You should tell him,” Bakerman urges me. his fever clearly rising inside of him. “The whole village knows about him and laughs at him.”

“The village thinks he’s a little old man,” I tell him about the rumours I have heard. “They think he’s my mom’s boyfriend. Nobody believes me when I tell them he’s my brother. They laugh when I say he’s my younger brother. Incredible.”

“It was suggested once that I should offer free treatment for him,” Bakerman is holding my gaze. I remember him offering to talk to my brother last year, but that was the other brother.

“Yes you should,” I push him a little. I’m starting to wonder how much of the fever is actually doing the talking.

“No,” Bakerman shakes his head resolutely. “Incest cases are not my thing.”

“How is he involved in incest?” I am shocked to my core. Is there a simple way to talk to a man delirious with fever? “You mean with my mother? Now it is weird how they live together. Go on vacation together.”

“Who knows the truth,” Bakerman shrugs. “Such is the rumour.”

“Sleep in same bed on vacation,” I go over the weird evidence accumulating under my unbelieving eyes. “It is the rumour, I know. But it can’t be true.”

“Why not? I had a case like this long ago,” Bakerman remembers sourly. “Father and son were fighting all the time. Fist fighting and father couldn’t figure it out. Son was fucking mother and became possessive. Mother preferred fucking son. Son is now living in a mental institution as he is screwed up from this. Both parents are dead now. He has been a basket case for years. Hated having to submit a report to the authorities.”

“Oh my that sounds bad,” I shake my head. I know I can’t cope with even hearing about such things. I’d rather live in my peaceful little world, without drama and terrible stories only my birth family could come up with. “I couldn’t cope with cases like that.”

“Yes,” Bakerman nods solemnly. “Who is your brothers father?”

“I can’t even read the newspaper without getting upset,” my head is spinning now and I’ve lost track of the plot. Are we talking about my brother in the UK and the abuse he put up with from Graham? Or my brother here in Belgium? “My stepdad? Fwa-fwaaah.”

“Yes I know,” Bakerman nods mysteriously.

“Frank is his real name,” I go on. “He looks the spitting image of him.”

“Is he in touch with your brother?” Bakerman asks inquisitively.

“Yes but not often now,” I tell him only what I have heard. “He’s drinking again. And very involved with his new Philippino wife and her lot. He never bothers with me and my kids. Sometimes my brothers but not often.”

“Sounds good,” Bakerman smiles.

“Does it?” I pull up my eyebrow at him.

“You don’t need the added aggravation,” Bakerman points out.

“I don’t,” I sigh.

“Your brother just needs to meet a bitch like his mother and he will be off,” Bakerman lets me know it will all be okay.

“Hasn’t happened yet,” I point out the obvious flaw in his statement. “Don’t think he ever will.”

“There must be loads of them in Belgium,” Bakerman has told me before that there are a million more fish in the sea.

“Mother won’t allow it,” I snort. “There are. But what, come home, be quiet for mom?”

“I understand my elder sister is also crazy,” Bakerman reveals part of his story. “She has a boyfriend who is 30 years her junior. He is a paid companion. A gigolo I guess. Fat and useless. Worked six months in his life so far. Yet she hangs onto him as though butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Maybe women go crazy when they hit menopause or 60. Maybe they think it will dry up. Even a dog that likes to lick is an option.”

“But he’s her son!” I am starting to feel defensive now. I hate horrible talk and even though I don’t like the lot of them, I won’t stand for nasty talk. “I don’t understand this. I want my children to live full lives. Adventures of their own. Not extensions of myself. Ugh my mom has cats. This is all very dirty, very scary and not healthy.”

“Ah but your autism is different from hers,” Bakerman continues in the same monotone voice. “She see things as possessions. If she can’t own you then you are the problem.”

“I am the problem,” I repeat for myself. “Oh dear, that’s psychopathic.”

“If you blog this please make up names and cities that protect your family,” Bakerman looks at me alarmed.

“Haha,” I laugh as I can’t for the life of me imagine to ever repeat what I have just heard. “Yes true. Like which names? Tweedledum is pretty good.”

“Sure it’s always the same pattern,” Bakerman nods. “Your mother needs to own everyone she is close to. The concept if love is very distant to her. Sex equals love.”

“And the Old-Woman-in-a-Shoe,” I burst out in hysterics now. This conversation has clearly gotten under my skin.

“Yes something like that,” Bakerman is eyeing me with growing concern.

“Ugh disgusting,” I curl my nose. “Now I know where my weird behaviour comes from.”

“Yes,” Bakerman confirms.

“Or how I thought I had to do,” I go on seeing the light. “And it never felt right. So she is doing it with him. Yuk disgusting.”

“My next point. You can change it,” Bakerman always offers options.

“That will never stop,” I give up before I have even started. “I can? That’s the death card. How?”

“Yes you can change your behaviour only,” Bakerman explains the rules to me.

“Ah but I’m fine,” I say firmly. “How do I save my mother and my brother?”

“Fiona you must not put your filters in when reading tarot,” Bakerman scolds me. “You don’t know what’s in her future. You can’t.”

“What do you mean?” I ask him desperately.

“You can’t save them only they can,” Bakerman looks at me with sorry eyes. “You can help them achieve the desire to change.”

“So my blog will expose them and force them to change?” I ponder as anxiety creeps further up my spine.

“No it will just bring a new law suite,” Bakerman sighs looking into his empty tea mug.

“Public shaming does work,” I speak up. “Will it? Even if I talk about Tweedledum?”

“You need proof,” Bakerman puts his cup down and moves over in a conspiratorial fashion. “Have a few mini bugs placed in their house and record them for a month. Then you will have evidence.”

“Okay sounds fun,” I wink at him. “I’ll get their place bugged next time I’m in there. Or get the kids to do it. Or I know people who know people.”

“I am going shopping now,” Bakerman gets up slowly. “You could just ask her to clarify the rumour which she will deny but might think about.”

“Ok will do,” I say reluctantly as I can’t see myself ever having this conversation ever again.

“Ok have fun,” Bakerman waves after me as I make my way out of his atelier, back into the fresh spring air outside. I will always marvel at Bakerman’s ability to match his coaching strategies to each client for maximum success. His fever seems to have left together with the negativity he just spun out. I could almost visually see him releasing it all as he exhaled. I inhale the fresh spring air and take in the fresh energy of the sun, allowing it to light the way to a brand-new era.

* Disclaimer : Any resemblance between the fictional characters in this story and any persons, living or dead, is a miracle by chance more than by choice.

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Epilogue #WizardOfOz

In my effort to explain the nature and workings of the world I live in, I found myself explaining cases of past memories from my childhood, as a young adult and from the life I live today with my three gorgeous children. Having no other way to explain these acquired memories, I also give credit to the feedback received from various participants in my stories.

  • Prince Charming came to see me and told me yes, he is my ex-husband but he disputes being my gay ex-husband. When pushed further on this distinctive issue he confirmed that yes, he had dabbled a bit in playing with other men, but that at the most would only make him bi, not gay. I mean seriously.
  • Wim admits to being addicted to morfine and loves the feeling of floating around on his pink fluffy cloud.
  • Charlie, my cat, is worried about getting fired and has solicited a new position both with the Star and with the Old-Woman-who-lives-in-a-Shoe.
  • The Star still has her little bun in the oven at the time of this writing.
  • The Old-Woman-who-lives-in-a-Shoe paid me a visit and offered yet a third version of how she got her hernia. She now reckons it came on after biking during her vacation in Asia with Tweedledum. I don’t know what to believe now. Her changing versions twice makes the Dormouse’s gossip all the more believable.
  • The Queen of Hearts keeps herself to herself nowadays baking tarts for the black birds.
  • The White Queen has unfriended me on Facebook.
  • Prince Charming has since been spotted at several occasions snooping around my house looking to talk to my spirit guide.
  • The Wizard of Oz has retired on the white sands of Cuba and has last been seen baking his daily bread.

* Disclaimer : Any resemblance between the fictional characters in this story and any persons, living or dead, is a miracle by chance more than by choice.

Charity for a spiritual sponge #PeaceOfMind

The next lunchtime the Wizard finds me in a disgruntled mood. He hovers around me observing my overall attitude.

“Good day,” I say to the Wizard with a voice that conveys I am not in a happy place right now. “The Old-Woman-who-lives-in-a-Shoe is still harassing me about money. She is adamant I still owe her 289 Euros. Shall I just ignore her?”

“No. Pay it,” the Wizard says matter of factly.

“What really?” I say in disbelief. “But I don’t agree. Her calculation is wrong. At the most I might still owe her the 89 Euros. Seriously? Why? Why can’t I ignore her?”

“Fight if you want to,” the Wizard sighs. “Cheap price for peace.”

“There will never be any peace,” I say angrily. “Ignoring isn’t fighting.”

“Once she has nothing left to harass you about cut her off as much as possible,” the Wizard advises.

“Why can’t I do it now?” I want to know. “And what about her calculation being wrong?”

“You can,” the Wizard reassures me. “But there is a discrepancy in the amount so this will go one forever. Plus don’t be cheap. Money will come back to you. See it as charity.”

“Charity…,” I trail off. “For the poor little Old-Woman-who-lives-in-a-Shoe.”

“Yes,” the Wizard smiles.

“Stupid Old-Woman-who-lives-in-a-Shoe,” I snap.

“Yes,” the Wizard nods.

“Pffff what a scam,” I roll my eyes at him. “What a cheap excuse of a mother. She’s a piss-poor mother. Will this ever come back to her?”

“No you gain the upper hand,” the Wizard starts laying out the big picture for me. “Tell her you disagree with her calculation but you give her the benefit of the doubt out of sympathy. You tell she needs it more than you do, so she can have it with pleasure.” He waits a moment to make sure I have understood that part, then he continues: “Yes it already has. The punishment has already begun.”

“I am telling you this will never stop,” I say bewildered. “She will find something else. Oh yes, which punishment?”

“Yes she will but you can negotiate it or ignore it as she no longer has any power over you,” the Wizard says calmly. “Punishment, old and bitter. Maybe in time lonely too.”

“Old, bitter, dried-up, single, horrible Old-Woman-who-lives-in-a-Shoe,” I snap again.

“Yes with no grandchildren to spoil,” the Wizard goes on in a monotonous tone. “In short ‘zero value’.”

“Well one. She has Tweedledee’s little girl,” I point out. “She doesn’t know how to spoil.”

“Until he too gets tired of the bitterness,” the Wizard predicts.

“Too anally retentive,” I mock.

“Ok I got to go,” the Wizard’s ears start twitching as his cloud starts humming to take off again to the warm white sands of Cuba.

I blow him a kiss but still want to set the record straight on the so-said discrepancy: ” I did pay it, but just one payment from a different account. I have an SMS text message of her proving receipt of this payment. If I go proving everything, then I am the one counting Euros in a plastic bag. If I pay it, she will have had her interests like she demanded. I will never get the upper hand and the pestering will never stop. So I draw the line here. I am not paying the Old-Woman-who-lives-in-a-Shoe a single cent more. And I am not communicating or answering her anymore either. It has to stop somewhere.” That was my first response, but reason soon sets in. “But you’re right. I’ll pay her off. With disdain. And I am going to be soooo successful. Watch me.”

“I am not watching,” the Wizard teases.

“Poop. How am I going to be successful then?” I sulk. “Okay I won’t be big, successful or famous. I’ll just remain sweet little me forever.”

“I expect you to succeed,” the Wizard looks at me intently with his big blue eyes. He then pulls out a tea pot and a chocolate muffin on a dainty little plate from somewhere in his pink fluffy cloud.

“Oooh I love that,” I say with radiating warmth and comfort. “Looks delicious and the pottery is just so cozy and beautiful. Really wow. Well done both of you.”

“Thanks,” the Wizard beams with pride. “Still a few small hurdles to overcome and then sales begin. Plus I have a teaching post. My partner wants me to also do conversations in English on Sunday evenings. Busy busy boy.”

“That’s good!” I cheer him on. “And great to see you complement each other.”

“Yes we do but only on Sundays,” the Wizard winks at me mysteriously.

“Not sure I get this,” I ponder which double meaning he could be hiding in that simple phrase. “You and Debbie are always together… or you only speak English on Sundays?”

“Always speak English on Sundays,” the Wizard corrects me.

I smile at him for the comfort his friendship brings me and fondly wave him off as he takes off on his cloud.

 

* Disclaimer : Any resemblance between the fictional characters in this story and any persons, living or dead, is a miracle by chance more than by choice.

Come clean #politicallyincorrect

I am distracted as I sip my macchiato at BNP’s work café. The Wizard has floated up quite discreetly and has joined me in my booth. His ears twitch as he assess my mood.

“Hmmm hmmm hmmm,” I blow my coffee absent mindedly wondering how I can word what is going on in my mind. “It has been several times in the past few weeks now that the Knave of Hearts’ name has been mentioned in meetings. I hope they’re not bringing him back.”

“Wait and see,” the Wizard smiles at me keeping his keen blue eyes locked on my body language.

“So men are penis driven,” I repeat after him. “Why would that stop him from wanting to see his son? And I am really still very desirable. Hmmm strange.”

“Questions I can’t answer,” the Wizard tells me softly.

“Stranger still,” I look at him in surprise. The Wizard knows everything surely. “Why can’t you answer it?”

“Desire is in the eye of the beholder,” the Wizard looks at me amused. “I can’t speak for others. What are you thinking?”

“I don’t understand how he could not be thinking about little Willem,” I open up to him. “Why doesn’t he feel the pull to see and hold his son. I am not sure what I would feel if I saw him again. Or what I should feel. I didn’t like him ignoring me. He’s been ignoring me for the past 2 years now. No reason that would change if he came back. And what if he comes back and in the meantime he is married with children? How will I feel then? Will Willem never see his father? Will he never know him? And what about Wim? Wim is being a fine father figure for Willem. Maybe better than the Knave of Hearts ever could have been. I always had visions of the Knave of Hearts playing and spoiling the little boy. I don’t understand why that’s not happening. I also don’t understand why I still feel so confused and attracted and angry. Well no yes, I understand why I am angry and hurt.” I let out a deep sigh at the tangle of my very politically incorrect thoughts. “Strange… Maybe they’re not bringing him back and it’s just a big coincidence that the boss and others have mentioned him several times now. Just a coincidence. Nothing will happen.”

“I see the pattern of your thoughts is still the same,” the Wizard tells me disgruntled. “I understand you always only think about yourself. I have to point out, you are not the center of the universe. You don’t have the power to control or change other people’s lives to suit your need. The Knave of Hearts rejected you completely as someone untestable and a liar by your own doing and now you think after two years he must repent and forget what you did. Children suffer for the wind of their parents.”

I laugh as the Wizard’s cloud had started making little jolty movements. The Wizard corrects himself very annoyed by the incidence as he pats the cloud repeatedly with his back paw. “Oh this cloud. Untrustable. He rejected you as someone untrustable. And kids suffer for the sins of their parents.”

“I understood,” I laugh playingly at his discomfort. “And I am sorry for Willem. I don’t agree though. I rejected the Knave of Hearts because he did nothing, always arrived late in the evening, and the only thing he wanted to do was go out dancing. We had an argument once and he stormed out leaving me pregnant and to beg for him to come back. He was no husband or farther material. I chose what was best for me and all three of my kids. Winston and Lilly both told me they didn’t like him. Those are all red flags that count. I know it was a terrible lie and it was designed to be one. I think I did my best at making sure that he would never come back. I cried and begged and made it all very unappealing. While inside I wasn’t that bothered at all. It’s all very strange I know. I still believe my subconscious picked up on something and wanted him out.”

“Well what ever happened happened,” the Wizard advises me to let bigons be bigons. “Let it go. Have a good cry and blow your nose. William will grow up anyway and be who he will just the same. Stop worrying about it. Job well done.”

“Okay Willem is doing fantastic,” I smile at him and blow him a kiss back as he floats discreetly through the window.

* Disclaimer : Any resemblance between the fictional characters in this story and any persons, living or dead, is a miracle by chance more than by choice.

The phenomenal real me #paranoia #parasite

I didn’t sleep well that night. One of the obvious reasons being the aches and pains of the flu my body was combatting. The other reason being what the Wizard had told me. It lingered on my mind for quite some time. I twisted and turned his words over and over in my mind. Not fully grasping the meaning of what was said. But nevertheless, the resolute decision formed within me that that would be the very last of my paranoia attacks. Never again would I let my mind and imagination get the better of me again. After all, it isn’t serving me.

The Wizard is moody the next day, and time will show that he will remain moody for an entire week. He still appears at random moments, only to munch around my kitchen and then disappear again. On one occasion I attempt to humour him.

“Ok I am sorry about this and I agree,” I whisper to him softly. “No more. Have a wonderful day.”

I refrain from insisting on getting a response from him. I am determined to show him not with words, but with actions, that from now on I will better that part of myself that runs away with me. From now on, I will keep my feet firmly on the ground.

I know years from now I will thank myself for saying no to paranoia, to committing to my healing journey. The Wizard of Oz shares so many powerful tools for eliminating stress, healing and developing phenomenal, deep core strength in all aspects of my life. I know that even if I do just 80% of what the Wizard tells me, I will see results that will continue to support me this lifetime.

It is going to take work, it won’t always be easy. But I will compassionately do my best, accept myself along this journey and allow for my imperfect action to carry me forward. The Wizard knows how to “kickstart” and reset people. I will allow him to guide me and elevate my health, happiness and wellbeing to new levels.

Sure to see changes in my energy, sleep, healing, mood and of course this affects every aspect of my life. I believe I can do it!

Paranoia is like a parasite.

If you spend a lifetime having chronic stress or trauma within your life, your attitude changes from good to bad, which allows for mood and attention disorders, cravings, addictions and the list goes on.

Potentially this journey may even change me so dramatically I might be a different person in all my relationships. Or maybe I will for always just be me. I like being me. *smiles*

* Disclaimer : Any resemblance between the fictional characters in this story and any persons, living or dead, is a miracle by chance more than by choice.

Value your life #accident

I had just arrived leisurely at the office this Friday morning when one phone call upset the rest of my day. Totally panic stricken I look around the empty meeting room I have used for my private call. The Wizard must have sensed something disturbing was up, because he appeared with a loud “plop” out of thin air blinking at me with his big dark blue eyes.

“Good day. How are you?” I ask him politely but with haste. “Prince Charming, my gay ex-husband, has had a car accident and has a cervical fracture. I know it’s not my problem but still find this upsetting.”

“That’s bad,” the Wizard sighs with visible relief. “Or just punishment?”

“He has nobody,” I continue as my breath sounds shallow. “Just punishment? He has had so many car accidents.”

“He has his parents I think,” the Wizard retorts annoyed with my involvement.

“Last time was 12 years ago with me when I fell pregnant with Winston,” I recount the car accident with horror. Still seeing the images in slow motion pass before my eyes.

“Drink and drive don’t go together I think,” the Wizard is spelling out the rules for me.

“Yes his parents will have to take care of him,” I nod with my head in my hands. “It was this morning. He wasn’t drinking. It’s awful.”

“I see,” the Wizard rolls his eyes. “Can you help him?”

“I feel… bad for him,” I sigh deeply. “No I can’t fix his broken neck. He’s going to have an operation.”

“But you could cook and stuff,” the Wizard shows me there is still comfort food as healing.

“I am not mother Theresa and I am not taking him in,” I wail as I try to fight back the tears stinging my eyes.

“Why not?” the Wizard demands of me.

“But yes, I would want to take him in till he is better,” I admit. “He is horrid to me. But he is my children’s father.”

“I see,” the Wizard glances sideways this time.

“I should take him in temporarily until he is better,” I am thinking out loud to the benefit of nobody really. “What do you think?”

“Well do what you think is right for you,” the Wizard is wise enough to stay far away from delicate decisions like these.

“Can’t just ignore this,” I tell him. “I don’t know.”

“Ask Wim,” the Wizard encourages me to remember our conversation of yesterday. Or was it some kind of prediction?

“He is the father of my children,” I repeat again thinking of my little darling cherub faces.

“So what?” the Wizard snaps at me. He can see I am getting far too emotionally involved.

“Wim says it is not my problem,” I am breathing very fast and my head is spinning. “I don’t agree.”

“I understand,” the Wizard calms me down with his deep hypnotic voice. “Do what makes you happy. You have to face the consequences.”

“I will,” I decide as I get up to vacate the meeting room. “What a year. Thank god for the au-pair.”

“Yes I know that will work out nicely,” the Wizard winks at me as he watches me leave the meeting room. He fades out of sight slowly.

“You think so?” I turn to face him as his image dissolves into clear smoke. “Wim won’t be happy for taking Prince Charming in. Maybe Wim is right. Prince Charming is not my problem anymore. Where was he when I needed help? Or shouldn’t I think like that? Maybe another blessing in disguise. Prince Charming will be out revalidating 6-12 months. I get kids fulltime and can make them happy and robust again. Wonderful. Prince Charming will have to be his parents’ problem now.”

That day was stressful. Adrenaline filled my body as my muscles tensed up. My neck had started to hurt really bad as if I myself had been caught up in the car accident with Prince Charming. At home later on that evening, I crashed in the sofa suffering the first symptoms of a heavy strain of flu. The past couple of weeks of worry and anxiety had finally caught up with me. And there is only one thing for me to do. Rest.

The Wizard appeared briefly at my bedside that evening just to blow me a distant kiss. I looked at him with sore eyes and a heavy body aching with flu. I whisper at him from afar: “He’s fiiiiine. Prince Charming is okay. Poop. And hurray!”

The Wizard doesn’t reply but smiles at me gently as he floats around my room keeping an eye on me in my restless sleep. It is time to rest and to take care of me first.

 

* Disclaimer : Any resemblance between the fictional characters in this story and any persons, living or dead, is a miracle by chance more than by choice.

Friendship issues

Later that morning as I am tidying up from breakfast, the Wizard drifts lazily into the kitchen, clearly looking to speak with me for a reason.

“Buenos dias and good morning,” I smile at him. “I am skyping with an au-pair from South Africa tonight. Exciting, isn’t it?”

I dazzle around the kitchen clearing away the dishes humming happily to myself. I suddenly stop and look at the Wizard blankly: “I realized this morning I am still sabotaging myself with my blog.”

Immediately I feel embarrassed, as I give myself away too much to the Wizard. Only it feels so comforting talking to him. So I throw a question his way too: “How is your ‘broodjeszaak’? Sold many sarnies yet?”

“Yes your blog needs fictional structure,” the Wizard blinks at me with bright turquoise eyes. “A South African au-pair could be interesting. I see your sissy fit has passed.”

“Haha,” I laugh remembering the so manieth panic attack with garbage waffling out of my mouth. Let me change the subject quickly: “What do you mean by fictional structure?”

“Broodjes are still under testing  regime,” the Wizard answers in guise of two can play that game. “Finding the right flour and products is a not difficult for me but I am getting there. Sales start in February. We hope to open a coffee and baguette place in February.”

“That sounds really nice,” I smile at him encouragingly. Wouldn’t it just be lovely if everything works out just great for everybody? With that comforting thought in mind, I put the kettle on for a nice cuppa.

“You need to change the conversations and omit stuff that is too envious,” the Wizard finally answers my question about my blog. “Too obvious, I mean.”

“You can display Debbie’s pottery there too and sell those as well,” I can already imagine a quaint little Cuban coffee and baguette shop where the Wizard of Oz and his Debbie sell their artisanal products with tender love and care. “Yes and stop stepping on the Star’s toes.”

“Something like that,” the Wizard evades an easy answer. It means I will have to try it out for myself.

“That’s a huge challenge,” I remind him thinking deeply about my blog and what I write about. Sometimes I have a difficult time remembering exactly what I wrote. And what I deliberately omitted. “Can you give an example how I could twist things?”

“Change names, place and edit conversation so it seems to be someone else,” the Wizard looks at me annoyed as if the answer is so blatantly clear. “Then you can say it’s based on so and so but not real. Different outcome.”

“Ok will see what I can do,” I muse as I sip my tea. A piece of dark chocolate would be just right at this moment.

Inspired by the launch of a new chapter in my life, I finally understand that BFFs beyond the age of 20 are co-dependent relationships. However, when I round up the adventures I share with the Wizard of Oz, I realize I have come to think of him as a dear and beloved friend. What makes our interaction special is that we talk to each other just-because. He inspires me to chase my dreams and make something special out of my life. After all, I only have one shot at it.

 

* Disclaimer : Any resemblance between the fictional characters in this story and any persons, living or dead, is a miracle by chance more than by choice.