Why a Turkey Wishbone Taunted Me

So randomly last night, my family had a turkey. A thirty pound turkey for dinner.

(Needless to say we will all be eating turkey for the next week or so, but that’s beside the point of this post).

The real point of this post is that this morning I woke up to find the wishbone sitting on the kitchen window sill, and that damn wishbone, it was taunting me.wishbones It was mocking me with all the wishes I need granted right now, and the great unfairness that IF (and that’s a big if), I get the bigger piece when it’s pulled apart, then only one measly little wish will come true.

But that still got me thinking. If I had to choose one wish? What would I wish for?

If I had to pick one wrong in my life to make right. If I had to pick one hole in my heart to fill, what would I choose? What is at the very top of my list of current heartbreaks.

(You probably see what I mean about how this wishbone was taunting me now. See said wishbone to your right).

But honestly, at first I didn’t know. What would I wish for? What would I choose?

Would I wish for my situation to improve?
Would I wish for my best friend not to live so far away?
Would I wish that Toronto and everyone in it wasn’t a 1.5 train ride away, and that traffic didn’t turn a 40 minute drive downtown into a nightmare of stop and go.
Would I wish for more money? (God knows I could use more money).
Would I wish for my Dad’s chronic pain to go away?
Would I wish for my the happiness of my friends who SO deserve it.
Would I wish away my mother’s migraines to suddenly cease?
Would I wish for my little brother to get more sleep?
Would I wish therapy was free?
Would I wish for my Grandfather to make better choices?
Would I wish for my panic attacks to stop?
Would I wish for justice?
Would I wish for the world, for humanity and right some of the wrongs that aren’t so personal to me?

Unfortunately not.
Unfortunately not with only one wish.

No that one wish, I knew almost immediately what it would be. I knew what I would choose if I only had one wish, because that wish while not righting all the wrongs, while it wouldn’t fill all the holes in my heart, while it certainly wouldn’t solve everything, it was still the one thing I wanted more than any of those other things. It was still the one thing that might just make all the other things a little easier. That would make my battles a fairer fight. That would me a little bit stronger, and a whole lot happier.

So you’re probably wondering, what would it be?
What would I wish for if I only had one wish?
What would I dedicate that semi-dried wishbone to?

Well, it’d be for Jordy. My star-crossed lover from Holland, who’s working in Germany and trying to make his way back to Canada to see me.

It’d be for the person who believes in me, fights for me, and loves my rabbit like his own child. It’d be for the face that makes me set an earlier alarm just so I can spend a little extra time looking at him.

It’d be for love.
For the one I love.
For the kind of love that’s once in a lifetime.
It’d be to have that love in bed next to me in the mornings.
It’d be for the thing, the only thing really, that makes anything and everything else worth anything.
It’d be for love.
That would be my wishbone wish.



Why Love Letters are Pure Magic

There’s a kind of magic in love letters.

It’s a magic that you don’t find in a text message, or an email. It’s a magic you couldn’t create, couldn’t replicate in those mediums no matter how hard you tried.

And this magic, it’s in both the writing of them and in the receiving of them. It’s why I love them. It’s why it’s so important to me to buy a card, pen a message and send it off in the mail. It’s why I’ve been waiting all day to open the one that arrived for me from Holland today.

Maybe part of this magic, is that it makes it real. Maybe it’s that in holding something physical in your hand, something they touched and sealed, it makes the person feel real. Maybe it’s that the physicality of a love letter makes your loved one feel concrete in a way that no text message, or email or phone ever call really can.

But then, maybe the true magic is in the feeling of it, the feeling of writing a letter and sending it, and how it’s so different from anything else in the 21st century that you send.

See, when you write a letter, you can’t recall it, you can’t own it, and you can’t keep it. You simply put all this feeling, all this love into it and you send it away. You can’t go back and re-read it. It isn’t there to overanalyze and overthink. It’s given, completely and utterly to the person who receives its. You give your love, all your thoughts, your words, and all you keep is the echo of these things.

Once it’s sent all you have is the feeling of it. You don’t have the actual things you said.

But they do.

They have those words, those feelings, those thoughts. They have it, right there in that letter. That letter that travelled a long way, all the way really, to bring those things to them.

There’s something romantic in that. Something magical, something that keeps the love letter from being old fashioned. Something that makes it necessary even though we have Skype, and Facebook, and WhatsApp. Something that gives it a place in today’s long distance relationship. Something that makes me grateful for mail people, and mailboxes, and for a way of communicating that’s survived into 2017.