Second Sight

I said that I would tell  you about Grandma Hess someday.  Today is the day.

Grandma Hess was a round, pink and white, fluffy bundle with arthritic hands and a huge heart.  I remember her baking and fussing and using a big "ironer" machine to iron shirts to hankies.She loved canaries, always naming each one "Dickie bird". Although diabetic and in much pain, Grandma was not a complainer.

Ethel Pearl Ferer Hess was every bit as patient as the Hess family she married into.  Where Grandpa would greet a guest with an easy handshake, Grandma was the one who was quicker to laugh and clap him on the back, tell him to "sit a spell" and offer to whip up something lest a guest should leave her table hungry. They always stayed, praying that the "something" would be a pie or cake or homemade biscuits with honey or jam.

Not every guest came for the goodies.  Grandma had a secret.  She had a sixth sense.  Some call it second sight.

Scoff, go ahead.  My dad and his father, devout Roman Catholics, put no stock in Grandma Hess' abilities. Not, that is, until A. Grandpa lost his "numbers" bets and was worried about retaliation and B., when Dad's truck was stolen.  Well, A was found in the chicken coop where Grandpa had laid it down for a couple of eggs for breakfast, and B was exactly where Grandma told him it would be found.

The police department believed, too.  Over a cup of coffee and a sweet the detectives would relate what they knew.  Grandma would tell them the rest. The headlines would read "POLICE CONSULT LOCAL FORTUNE TELLER" the next day.  She told them how to find the missing man in a swamp by the heel of his boot, where the diamond ring has been lost down the overstuffed chair she had never seen, where the produce vendor had spent his afternoons in the "house of ill repute".

There are many more stories I could relate, not from personal experience but from the mouths of believers and skeptics who saw her at work.

Grandma didn't predict numbers or horse races.  She didn't accept money or presents.  Would I be so altruistic?  Or would I hang out a shingle and prey on passers-by?

Grandma used to tell me that I had "healing hands", and Aunt Marjie always suspected that I was gifted with her mother's second sight.  There have been disconcerting moments in my life, but none so strong that I would call it predilection.  Afterward, it is too late.  Hindsight is, after all. twenty-twenty.

So would I open my mind for cash?  Would I clean the pockets of John Q Public?  The old me, blessed or cursed, might have tried.  The newer me is also blessed with a conscience.  How much of one?

Let's see. . .want your fortune told?