Peruse, ponder, connect, act.
I have commenced writing my new novel. “The Wishbone”. It is about relationships between dear and near ones before and after they have a ‘windfall’ consequent to their supplication to the “Wishbone”. The novel is a thriller coupled with mystery and humor. Hopefully in a month’s time it will go for publication.
I am enclosing the Prologue primarily for those who may like to try the ‘wishbone’ and reap the harvest. A word of caution! do read Grand Ma’s advice carefully!
I welcomed serendipity in my life, I was young and ignorant ; yes, my wish that my mother lived was never granted, I was two months old when she died, Since then my wish had remained within me forever, mute and subdued. My grand ma became my mother to me. My father was there too, and he patted me and kissed me every evening when he returned home from work. But Granny was all over me, all the time, gentle, persuasive, fussing and cajoling. They met all my needs; I grew up having everything; some never asked for.
One night at the dinner table I felt a sudden desire.
“I want a pony”, I said. Both father and granny looked at me with amusement. After a while, granny picked up a piece of bone from her plate and held it between her fingers.
“This forked bone was located in front of the breast bone of the chicken we just ate. It consists of two clavicles or collarbones joined together at their lower end.” She paused and bringing the bone closer to me, she said, “Now hold one bone while I hold the other.”
I did so and she continued, “Close your eyes and silently make the wish.”
I did and in my mind asked for the pony. I opened my eyes and granny pulled the bone held by her towards her with a jerk. The bones split apart from their ends, each of us holding our piece. Dad and granny smiled and I joined them.
Next morning I was awakened by the neighing of a horse coming through the window. I jumped out from the bed and ran outside into the lawns. Standing gracefully and shaking her neck was a pony with beautiful large eyes. I went to her and held her face in both my palms.
My grand mother left me forever when I was 16 years old.
“Use the wishbone rarely. Keep it for the day when the storm in your life is delirious and frenzied; it pours heavily with lightening, thunder and gusty winds,” was her parting advice.
I took her advice. I keep away from the wishbone, but the temptation remains; for how long? Only time and my urge are aware!