The Cruise

I guess it’s time we talked about it.

The cruise.

That’s probably how you found me.

One balmy October evening on a ship in the Caribbean, Hell froze over.

How do I know Hell froze over? Because my mother, who doesn’t really get what all this is about, suggested I do a reading on how much she’d win at the casino that night. She’s never asked for a reading before. She tends to stay away from anything overtly “woo-woo,” but in the quiet of our cabin, she found me shuffling cards. Maybe she wanted to help calm my nerves or support me, maybe she wanted to feel like she was part of something, or maybe curiosity just got the better of her. My mother’s motivations are always an enigma, but she asked, and the cards answered.

I can’t remember all five cards I pulled, but I do remember the message: she would win, but not much, and a tricky man would be involved. The vibes were very dealer-slash-game-show-host adjacent, and I told her so.

Not even an hour later, Mom bought a ticket for Deal or No Deal. I stepped away to get a drink, and on my way back I heard over the PA system, “LET’S GIVE IT UP FOR OUR NEXT CONTESTANT…” and turned to see my mother, in her cute Halloween jacket, climbing the stairs to the stage to join the (male) game show host.

I had become a bit of a “thing” on Threads during my vacation for deciding to set some boundaries so I could have a good time too. So I posted my prediction and then live-posted a few short clips as she played. At least fifteen thousand people watched live as my mother turned down offer after offer from the Banker…

Only to walk away with…

Five Dollars.

They were not the results she wanted, but they certainly fit the prediction I gave her.

She did win. It wasn’t very much. And a tricky man was very much involved.

Anyway, now she’s not speaking to me, and one of my newer decks definitely has some opinions about our relationship, but that’s a blog entry for another day.

⭒☾⭒

Under the Strawberry Moon

My love for the spiritual goes deeper than just reading Lenormand cards.

I was born into it.

I grew up listening to old wives’ tales passed down for generations. My grandparents scheduled surgeries by The Signs, consulting the Farmer’s Almanac to know when the body would be more or less receptive to pain, to healing.

I’m no stranger to superstitions and folk magic performed by generations of women and men who would curse your name if you called them witches, swearing their abilities came from the Good Lord above, while probably driving railroad spikes into the corners of their property all the same. 

"Grandma always said….” was a common refrain throughout my life, referring to my great-grandmother—who was born in the late 1800s, got married at fourteen, and raised fifteen of her own kids, plus some extras, in a holler in Southwest Virginia.

This brings me to my second son. 

I believe he’s got some sort of second sight though, he would never admit it. He has had a handful of experiences over the years he’s told me about that have left him uneasy, and probably some left untold.  He’s seen and interacted with my doppelgänger, he’s seen his friend’s car-same bumper stickers and everything--and his friend driving by his place of work when in actuality, his friend is at college, four hours away. A trick of the eye? A coincidence? Maybe.

He came to me after that last one, unsettled. And I did what I do. I offered to make him a charm. Something for protection. Something to help him see clearly, without interference from illusion or glamour.

“Sure,” he said, “I could use some more decoration in my car.”

That was his way of saying yes without fully admitting he believed in what I do. He’s logical. But I could see the space in him that needed reassurance.

Normally, I do this kind of work under a New Moon. I like spells to grow in strength with the moon’s waxing. But this one felt different. This one needed a Full Moon’s power—ripe, watching, ancient. I started gathering what I might need, but didn’t yet know how to bring it all together.

I pulled cards for guidance….

Make your choices with your heart, out of love. Rather than doing magic with the fear of something happening to him while driving, I should let my love for him create its own sort of protection. I needed to move through any blockages I felt and trust the magic of the universe. 

When the full moon arrived, heaviness weighed upon me like a mountain. 

I had had a full day of carrying Eldest Daughter responsibility and anxieties over the upcoming reunion with a semi-estranged family member I hadn’t spoken to in years. I was emotionally and energetically depleted. I’m of the belief that the magic of moon cycles lasts from the day before to the day after, so I thought I would do it the next night.

However, fate had other plans. At 1:30 am the night of the Strawberry moon, I woke up. Just wide awake. No noise, no reason. And I knew what this meant. The time was now. 

An hour and a half past midnight, I found myself standing in my nightgown before a veritable apothecary cabinet, filled with items I had intentionally collected or been gifted over the years. I made choices with my heart. 

Ingredients for purification, black salt, cascarilla. Mugwort. Malachite and amethyst. Strawberry quartz. Mock strawberry leaf, growing wild in my garden. Pyrite. One false thing can see another—that’s what I told myself. That was for glamour. For truth-seeing.

And the dirt. Dirt from land that belonged to my maternal grandparents. Dirt from my paternal family’s homestead. Dust from the family cemetery.

The final ingredient list maxed out at a whopping fifteen ingredients. This was for my son, and I don’t do half-measures when it comes to my blood.

I packed everything into a glass vial. I sealed it with white wax, carved his initials into the seal. I filled those lines with cemetery dust—called on our dead to guard him. I sealed it again. Passed it through mugwort incense smoke—mugwort I grew myself—and set it on the windowsill to charge under the light of the Strawberry Moon.

As I crawled back into bed at nearly 3 AM, I reflected on the cards I had pulled earlier.

Make your choices with your heart, out of love. Soil from generations of people who loved one another and would have loved him too, because he was one of them. If that’s not leading with my heart and love, I’m not sure what is. The black salt, the cascarilla, the crystal chips. The trifecta of strawberry—strawberry quartz chips, mock strawberry leaves, and the Strawberry Moon. It had come without hesitation.   I moved past that blockage I had been feeling earlier that day-that bone tired, spiritual depletion, and trusted the magic of everything we can’t quite explain. 

I trusted the cards. I trusted the moon. I trusted my gut. I trusted myself.

⭒☾⭒

Divination and Digestive Drama

A cheeky little tale about the cards keeping it... a little too real.

Every Lenormand reader has that moment—the one that reminds you just how direct, literal, and unflinching these cards can be. They don’t always whisper. Sometimes, they holler.

I was wrapping up a reading for a lovely client—our first session as a matter of fact. As we were winding down, she asked if I could pull a few quick cards for her daughters. Just a general energy check, nothing too in-depth. I agreed, and we turned to the cards.

The first daughter’s reading was gentle and uneventful—light, clear, nothing raising alarms.

Then I pulled cards for her younger daughter.

The first two cards out: Mountain and Tree.

Now, for those unfamiliar, Mountain often points to a blockage or obstacle. Tree speaks of health, growth, and the body’s natural systems. Together, they struck me immediately.

I asked a question instead of a statement this time:
"Is there some sort of blockage to her health?"

The client didn’t miss a beat. She burst out laughing—not mocking, but that knowing, slightly-too-accurate kind of laugh.
“Oh yes,” she said. “She has chronic constipation that we’re actually seeing a doctor for.”

And there it was. Right there in the cards.

This wasn’t a metaphor. This wasn’t a vague symbolic warning. The cards weren’t hinting—they were naming it.

Moments like this are why I respect the Lenormand system so deeply. It’s not always subtle. It’s not always cryptic. Sometimes, it’s stunningly straightforward—offering clarity in just two cards. It also reminded me that children, even if the question is general, often come through with astonishingly physical, real-world concerns.

So, if you ever doubt the precision of your deck—remember the Mountain, the Tree, and the very literal truth hiding in plain sight.

⭒☾⭒

Divination, Denial, and a Dress I’ll Never Wear

What happens when we only see what we want to see? This is the story of how Lenormand predicted my whirlwind romance—and my heartbreak.

After my divorce, I stayed out of the dating pool for a decade, focused on raising my children. But with my youngest now fifteen, I felt ready to dip my toe back in and see what was out there.

On January 1, I pulled Lenormand cards for the year ahead. Just three: Man + Dog + Letter. After some research and trusting my intuition, I interpreted the cards as a sign that I would meet a faithful man from a distance. I laughed and put them away—I couldn’t imagine it would be that easy.

But it was.

A little over a month later I created a dating profile. Almost immediately, I matched with a man, and our conversation flowed effortlessly. He was clever, attractive, open, and respectful. The only catch? He lived four hours away.

Skeptical of my luck and my own judgment, I pulled more cards: Man + Woman + House. A relationship with a strong foundation. Encouraged by the reading, I took the leap.

Our connection moved quickly. From a few messages to a first date, then a few months later, he moved in. Not long after, we were engaged. He was thoughtful, kind, and supportive. He remembered my favorite Dunkin’ Donuts order, fixed things around the house, and made life feel easier. I finally felt secure.

We planned for a long engagement to save up, but then I found the dress. A beautiful design from a boutique in Hong Kong. It felt meant to be, so I bought it. But as I eagerly awaited its arrival, I had a nagging feeling. Would it live up to my expectations? I turned to my cards.

Whip + Lily + Bouquet + Cross + Coffin.

My heart sank. I interpreted it as an obsession over the dress, a burden that would lead to an ending. I told myself it simply meant the dress wouldn’t be what I hoped, and I might have to return it.

But the cards had a bigger message. One I wasn’t yet ready to see.

Just ten days after my reading, the relationship crumbled. A disagreement about spending time with my friends spiraled into something bigger. He refused to talk it out. Within 48 hours, he had rented a U-Haul and was gone. In an almost Dickensian twist, the would-be-wedding dress arrived that same day, looking nothing like the picture online. 

Even though the cards had warned me, I had been too blinded by hope to see their truth. The cards tell us what we need to know. The question is: Are we ready to listen?

If you’re at a crossroads in love, career, or life, don’t wait for hindsight to bring clarity. I offer personalized Lenormand readings to help you see the full picture and navigate your journey with confidence. Book a reading today!

⭒☾⭒

Do You Want To Know a Secret?

I’m going to let you in on a little secret.

Sometimes, I do readings for my family—without them knowing. Not out of trickery, but for practice. My favorite topic is job interviews, but I keep my insights to myself. Why? Because I don’t want to interfere with fate. If someone thinks they’re guaranteed a job, they might walk in overconfident. If they believe they’ll fail, they may not put in any effort at all.

Recently, my middle son—an up-and-coming welder—was searching for a stable, full-time day position. The night before his interview at a factory, I turned to my Lenormand deck to see what it had to say.

Anchor + Fish + Fox + Bouquet + Stars

My interpretation? A great opportunity for stability. He’d get an offer, but there was a catch—it wouldn’t be the day shift he expected. I took a photo for the timestamp and kept it to myself.

The next afternoon, he walked in from his interview, shaking his head.

“Mom, it wasn’t what they told me at all.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“They said it was a day shift position, but all they had open were evenings and nights.”

“Did they offer you a job?”

“Yeah… but I don’t know if I want it. I wanted days.”

That’s when I pulled out my phone and showed him the reading from the night before. His response?

“Those cards are ridiculous, Mom.”

And yet… they had spoken the truth.

This is the magic of Lenormand. It doesn’t just predict the future—it reveals the real story beneath the surface. Whether it’s job opportunities, relationships, or unexpected twists, the cards always have something to say.

Are you ready to hear what they have in store for you? Book a reading today and uncover what’s waiting just around the corner.

⭒☾⭒

Ashes to Ashes: or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Spirit Communication

Some truths announce themselves in whispers, in flickering shadows at the edge of perception. Mine arrived in a way I could never have expected—with a witness I never would have chosen. One thing my ex-husband and I can now agree on, is that the dead don’t always stay quiet.

At eighteen, I secretly eloped with my high school sweetheart; and that’s not even the unbelievable part of this story.

Understandably, my new mother-in-law, whom we’ll call Selene, was not thrilled. Her only child had married without her knowledge, and to say she wasn’t my biggest fan would be an understatement. Selene was a complex woman—overbearing, intrusive, prone to extreme mood swings, and even attempted to have our marriage annulled. Yet, she also loved her grandchildren fiercely, was a phenomenal cook, and had a beautiful singing voice.

This story requires a bit of setup, so bear with me—I promise it’s worth it.

As a teenager, Selene was groomed by an older man, whom we’ll call Rick. At sixteen, she married him, and soon after, my ex-husband was born. Unsurprisingly, Rick was controlling and abusive. By the time my ex was two, Selene had fled with him for their safety. She spent the rest of her life putting as much distance as possible between Rick and the two of them. If another plane of existence had been an option, I’m sure she would have taken it. Over the years, she remarried three more times, finally finding a good match in a man we’ll call Winston.

Fast forward—my own marriage crumbled, and I entered my thirties as a single mother. While my soon-to-be ex and I were in the state-mandated separation period preceding a divorce, Selene passed away unexpectedly. Her final wishes were to be cremated, with her ashes split between Winston and my ex-husband. Winston later remarried and moved on, and we lost touch. That should have been the end of it.

It wasn’t.

Nine years later, I received an unexpected message on social media. It was Winston. His new wife wanted the ex-wife’s remains out of their house, and my ex-husband had never claimed his portion of Selene’s ashes. Since my ex had deleted his accounts, Winston reached out to the only person he could find—me.

The familiar sting of cleaning up my ex’s messes returned. I wasn’t sure I wanted to get involved, so, I turned to my Lenormand deck. I don’t recall every card I pulled, but one stood out: The Bear—a card associated with mothers and overbearing personalities. Selene fit that description perfectly. I shuffled and pulled again. The Bear. Again. The Bear. And again. The Bear.

For context, the odds of drawing the same card four times in a row in a 36-card deck while drawing five cards at a time are 1 in 2,700—or 0.037%. That’s when I knew: Selene had a message for me.

I picked up my phone and texted my ex-husband. He responded with some chilling news—his biological father, Rick, had just entered hospice.

Suddenly, it all made sense. Of all days, Selene reached out now. Rick was about to cross over, and she was not about to share the afterlife with her abuser. Two days later, my ex finally retrieved her ashes. That same day, Rick passed away.

I haven’t heard from Selene since her wishes were finally carried out. I like to think she’s finally at peace. I believe she came to me because my cards could serve as her voice—like a non-verbal child using a communication board. This is not a traditional use of Lenormand, but after significant study, it’s a language I understand.

Since then, I’ve had spirits come through occasionally during readings—some clearer than others. It doesn’t happen every time, and I don’t offer it as a standalone service, as I’m still honing this ability. But if a spirit comes through in a reading, I will deliver the message.

Curious? So am I. If you’re open to the unknown and understand that there are no guarantees, I’d be happy to explore the possibilities with you.

⭒☾⭒

From Fearful to Flourishing

My path to divination has been long, winding, and full of false starts. Raised Southern Baptist with a touch of Pentecostal influence, I was taught from an early age that fortune-telling was dangerous—evil, even. Still, the mystery of it beckoned.

When I was eight or nine, I begged for a Magic 8 Ball, and to my surprise, my father agreed. Fevered shouts of apoplectic, crimson-faced preachers looming over me from pulpits echoed in my ears, and the fear—and the possibility—of knowing the future was too heavy a burden for my young shoulders. I hid the toy away in a drawer until my parents eventually sold it at a yard sale for a quarter.

Even in young adulthood, I still felt the pull of magic, mysticism, and spirituality. I wanted to discover some hidden power within myself that would change my circumstances. Yet, fear again won out over fascination, and left me frozen with indecision. Was it wrong to want this? How could it be wrong when even the Almighty Himself bestowed the gift of prophecy on some?

Life carried on—I built a family, explored my spirituality, and became captivated by tarot. I had heard the old myth that your first deck must be gifted, and in my quiet, private interest, no such gift ever came. Daily survival—feeding schedules, school projects, helping choose outfits for middle school dances, graduations, a divorce, and subsequent single motherhood—kept me rooted firmly in the present.

It wasn’t until the Pandemic that I decided to give divination a try and claim my own inner power. I finally bought my first tarot deck. But then, I encountered another roadblock: 78 meanings to memorize, plus reversals? It felt insurmountable to my perpetually overwhelmed, 40-something brain. I admired the imagery but soon set the cards aside.

I came to learn about Lenormand via podcast while working my day job in a file room in Southwest Virginia, a far cry from the parlors in Europe where it was created. A divination system with 36 cards and no reversals sounded more feasible to me. While there’s much more to Lenormand than I originally thought, what was meant to be a stepping stone to tarot quickly became a love affair.

Placed in advanced English classes from an early age, I had always been drawn to storytelling, and Lenormand was exactly that—a language of archetypes, where meanings shifted based on the surrounding cards and the question asked. Once I learned to read their messages, their accuracy astounded me. They foretold job interview outcomes, the course of illnesses, even the rise and fall of my last relationship—months before I had even created a profile on a dating app. Unexpectedly, the cards have also helped me cope with anxiety. If I’m feeling anxious about an event, I’ll pull cards on it. Even if the outcome isn’t ideal, I feel prepared to face whatever comes.

We all have choices. My role isn’t to judge but to illuminate the path before you, offering clarity and discretion. If you've ever felt drawn to divination but uncertain where to begin, I understand. I’ve been there. If you've ever wondered if the cards have a message for you, all you have to do is ask.

⭒☾⭒