My friend treated me to a table knocker, turn of the last century psychic, two weeks before my mother had a stroke. The first thing the knocker said was"your mother will die in two weeks."
She knocked for an hour. "You will loose everything," (great) "You'll move to California," (no way)"You'll paint out in the fresh air," (if even...I'm a studio painter) "You will write a book," (but I cant spell) "He degrades you and its hard for us to watch," (but I love him more than man I ever met, and who are you anyway?)
Two weeks to the day my mother had a stroke. At the hospital I sat in disbelief. She said "Stroke, Stroke," and I said "what, you want a smoke? I cant give you cigarette here." I wasn't being mean, I just couldn't believe this had happened to her. "No, stroke," she said kind of slurryish. The doctor came in and said right in front of her she had a stroke and was likely to have just a third grade mentality. She looked at me, then him, held her limp hand up, and one by one pulled her fingers down until she was giving the doctor the bird and I said, "I think that's 5th grade, but I was a high school teacher so I'm not sure." I got her home and when she realized she was bedridden, that was it for her. She said "Jinni, I'm dying, read me a poem."
My whole life I hated poetry because she loved it. I always thought she didn't really hear the words because her actions were so unpoetic. So I flipped through the pages and each one I started was so depressing I would cough and flip to another. I ended on 'Casey at The Bat.' I read for a bit, then she gave me a dirty look and said I was making her sick and would I please shut up. She said "Keep every one away from me so I can leave this earth." I hate to say it but she'd already done that.
She didn't make it easy, ever. So I fought in court for two years to save the only home I ever had and lost everything. I walked outside in my pretty court clothes, laid down in the grass by the side of the road and wept. I called my friend in California who said, "Jinni, come here, you can sleep in my son's old room." I had a garage sale, but gave the great things to people just because they liked them, and really, how can you take money for your treasures? I moved to California with two suitcases of clothes (Hawaiian, mind you), my dog Trouser, and some paint. I'm now peddling pet portraits out in the fresh air in front of a coffee shop.
I did write a book during the two year court battle. I wrote it with the idea of it being beautiful, something I would liked to have read to my mother on her dying bed. The title is 'Snap Happily and the Unchanging Cloud.' Its about a painter who falls in love with a cloud who is to stubborn to change in the sky because he thinks he creates storms. On cloudy days when I hear people complain that they have nothing to do... well, I ask them to take me out to Point Reyes or to a hidden beach so I can take pictures to use as studies for the illustrations I'm doing for the book.
I dare anyone to get a reading from the Table Knocker... I can find her number if you want. I would almost do it again. And as for the love, he went on a vacation before my court case and stayed away until I left the islands. I still really love him, but that's life.