Today, Michelle and I went on errands together. In the both the driver’s and passenger’s door of her car, there’s a place to hold a drink and other things, as is the case in most cars. Since we were going to the bank first, I put my two checks to be deposited, my VERY coveted index card with a (long) list of to-dos, and a pen in that side compartment. After making my deposit, I put my deposit receipts in the compartment so I would remember to log it in to my check register. Then we drove to Russo’s Pizza to have a lovely outdoor lunch. We intended to go directly from lunch to the grocery store, but for my grand daughter, Arleen, nature called. You don’t mess around with this when you’re in the midst of potty training, for which she has a very tenuous grasp. We took her to the restroom in the restaurant, but “Hell no, I won’t go” was her motto. She wanted to go in her pink potty at my house.
Michelle and I drove home to make that pit stop. I took everything out of the side compartment: pen, index card and receipts. Then, true to my anal self, I swept my fingers up and down the compartment to make sure I had everything. I knew I did, so I don’t know what the heck I was expecting to find-a gold nugget? Whatever. I went in. put Arley on the potty, and recorded my deposits in the check register.
Then, we all got back into the car. I glanced at the supposedly empty side compartment and saw a shiny dime glaring back at me. What the heck? Where did that come from? There was absolutely NO dime there 10 minutes earlier. My OCD fingertips can attest to that. I asked Michelle if she had, for some crazy reason, decided to go around to the passenger side and slip some sort of donation on my side, but no, of course she hadn’t. She had a special coin carrier in her drink holder to keep her spare change. She saw the dime, shrugged her shoulders, and said, “I’m getting that it’s from Erik.” I put my fingers around the dime and “poof” it disappeared completely. Vanished. Dematerialized between my fingers. This both startled and delighted Michelle and I, and when we both searched the compartment with our fingers and our eyes, we came up with nothing. Plus there is no crease, no fold, no hiding place into which the dime could slink. Erik, you Indian Giver! In her mind’s eye, Michelle saw Erik laughing hard, slapping his knee, commenting on how hilarious we both looked as we frantically combed the small compartment for a measly ten cents as though it were the Hope Diamond.
When I told my father about this wonderful miracle, he laughed and said that Erik should try to materialize money without taking it away. Forget the pennies and dimes from Heaven; a few C-notes might come in handy. Don’t you spirits know that we have inflation over here?
