A Strange, True Tale
and some moments of joy.
Today’s issue is a potpourri, featuring a strange (true) tale and some glimmers of joy, along with the weekly card. I hope you enjoy it.
My phone’s “on this day…” function has a knack for pulling up bittersweet moments, especially during this season of grief. But this week, it served me an all-but-forgotten memory so bizarre I simply had to share it.
Six years ago today, I was on a walk with my friend Anne when we came across a handmade sign advertising an estate sale. It was scrawled on a piece of brown cardboard and tied to the home’s front banister, along with a few primary color balloons.
(In hindsight, the balloons should’ve tipped us off on what was to come, but they looked innocuous enough.)
As two writers with magpie tendencies, we’d never turn down the opportunity to snoop through someone’s treasures (and the stories this can inspire). So we marched up the stoop and through the front door.
At the time, I might’ve told you that almost nothing could surprise me. I’d lived in NYC for years and witnessed countless odd, amazing, and disturbing things. And yet, this was wholly unexpected.
We blinked, trying to make sense of the scene.
In a word, clowns. So many clowns.
Clowns of ceramic and plastic and clay. They covered every surface, forming a remarkably single-minded menagerie. There were joyful jesters and big-eyed baby clowns and weeping harlequins who had seen better days. A sad Ronald McDonald dangled from the wood-paneled wall.
Naturally, we had questions. Was this a clown’s estate? The home of a particularly enthusiastic collector? Were we about to get murdered? The answers remained elusive.
Anne and I continued through the home, open-mouthed, one clown-filled room leading to the next. We scanned tables and couches and shelves, every inch crowded with clowns. I half expected a camera crew to burst forth at any moment and announce it was all a prank, but it never happened.
Toward the back of the house, we encountered the lone representative for the sale: a middle-aged man, dressed as a non-clown civilian. He sat on a folding chair, his expression neutral, as though this was a perfectly normal affair. The nature of the scene did not suggest he worked for an auction house or estate sale company, yet he showed no interest or personal attachment to the space.
He gave us a cursory nod. Given the circumstances, namely our fear that Anne or I might burst into laughter if either of us attempted to speak, we didn’t inquire as to the story behind the clowns. The journalist in me regrets this decision. The novelist in me appreciates the space to invent a narrative for myself.
After a rather swift lap, we turned back to the entrance, hoping we weren’t trapped in some funhouse dimension and the outside world would still be there to greet us.
In the front hall, we noticed something we’d missed on our way in: a small brown box filled with VHS tapes, each adorned with a handwritten label. A Sharpie-on-loose-leaf sign was taped to the box. It read, simply, “porn.”
“But is it clown porn?” Anne whispered, as we sped out the door.
Like the mystery of the all-clown estate sale, we may never know the truth.
This week marks 22 years (!) of living in NYC, and my husband recently hit the 10-year mark. He had never been to the Statue of Liberty — despite always wanting to go — so last week, we paid her a visit.
It was approximately 3000 degrees and extremely crowded at every turn, and we spent much of the day questioning our choices.
But.
Maybe it’s the swell of joy and pride brought on by watching this year’s Olympics, or the hope inspired by the speeches at last week’s Democratic National Convention. Or maybe it was a less glorious combination of hormones and heat exhaustion. But despite being fortunate enough to glimpse the statue on an almost daily basis, beholding her up close felt surprisingly moving.
I was having a hard day recently and this video made me cackle with laughter. It’s been viewed over 9 million times across various platforms, so there’s a chance you've already seen it. But if not, maybe it will make you smile, too.
Card of the Week
Here is this week’s card for the collective, as well as some thoughts to carry into the days ahead. As most modern readers will tell you, the tarot is not about fortunetelling, nor is it about neat, definitive answers. The cards are simply one path to reflection, a way of better knowing ourselves and others through universal themes. If this reading resonates with you, great! And if not, no worries. Take whatever may be helpful and leave the rest.
This week, two things happened simultaneously.
The Seven of Cups showed up as our card of the week. And a reader sent me a question about her 1:1 reading that hinged on the Seven of Cups. As I mulled it over, I thought it might be fun to incorporate it into this week’s reading. So, here is a special two-part reading that does just that.
The Seven of Cups encourages us to consider what is real and what is an illusion.
What makes something “real,” anyway? Is it because we can see or touch or experience it? Because it’s been proven by science? Because someone witnessed it and says it is so?
What makes something trustworthy?
What makes something worth our belief?
…And in what instances might it be a good idea to suspend our disbelief, summon our faith, and go for it anyway?
The number seven is significant across many traditions: seven chakras, seven sacraments, seven levels of sefirot, seven deadly sins… Through another lens, this card asks us to dig down to the capital-t Truth as determined by our own personal navigation system. Which values are important to us? Where do we put our weight?
In the Smith-Waite deck, the Seven of Cups shows seven goblets bursting with curious treasures: a pile of glittering gems and a writhing serpent and a castle made of sand.
When we look at this card, we are each liable to see different things, and to interpret them in different ways.
The figure on this card appears to be midway through a dream. Or the prize round on a game show. Or, quite frankly, staring at their phone. Like anyone who’s ever scrolled social media, or a dating app, or an e-commerce site during a sale, they are bombarded with shiny images, unsure of what to buy into or who to trust.
The Seven of Cups acknowledges some frustrating facets of our culture. Every time we turn around, we’re being peddled an ideal to aspire to — followed by a quick fix, miracle product, or too-good-to-be-true solution. We are constantly bombarded with our (perceived) shortcomings, so we can be sold on what to do about it.
A wonderful reader and tarot client noticed that one cup (front row, third from the left) appears to contain a wreath of laurels, similar to the crown worn by the figure in the Six of Wands (below). As both of these cards appeared in her reading, she wondered if they were connected, and how she might go about interpreting the wreath’s presence on the Seven of Cups.
First of all, I love this question. It brings me so much joy to see you contemplating the cards — whether here, in a reading, or in your own practice — and drawing connections to your lives.
As I said, the Seven of Cups is a card about fantasy, illusion, choice. It could mean we have many paths, and that some seem more promising (or perhaps easier, more conventional, more appealing...) than others.
Sometimes, it may suggest that things are "too good to be true," and caution us against putting too much stock in fantasy.
Meanwhile, the Six of Wands is generally about pride — the good kind — as it relates to celebration, recognition, and collaboration. It’s generally regarded as a positive message, about allowing ourselves to bask in who we are and what we've done.
So, what does the laurel wreath inside the cup mean?
Ultimately, that depends on our feelings about what it symbolizes.
It asks: What is our relationship to pride? Do we view it as a force of good or something best avoided? Do we allow ourselves to acknowledge our accomplishments? Can we accept recognition? Do we celebrate our choices, actions, wins? (Or are we dubious of them, the way we might be of anything nestled inside a scary-looking chalice?)
Given the context, I'm inclined to say that what the Seven of Cups depicts is less a glimpse of reality, and more an inquiry about our own internal landscape. What do the symbols within each of these cups mean to us? And what do they bring up as we consider them?
Ultimately, the Seven of Cups encourages us to examine our core beliefs as they relate to the world around us. (Beliefs that are subject to change, as are we.)
What do we hold as true? What do we dream of, even if we’ve never voiced it before? What do we think is possible?
Put another way: What do we think is impossible? …And how might we prove ourselves wrong?
Occam’s razor = clown porn 😳 Now per usual your CotW synchronicity strikes again. This Friday, I was at a resort with my mom and sis. They asked me to read their Tarot at the beach. In the middle of my mom’s, a very young boy—couldn’t have been older than 6 or 7 but also very small—stopped in his tracks and walked over to assess the situation. He just stood there with his head cocked inquisitively. I explained it was Tarot and why I used it. He asked a few astute question, never dropping his befuddled expression. I asked if he’d like to pick a card and gave him the deck. He selected, yes, the 7 of Cups. I read the description that was very lyrical and way over even my head (but I was recently taught to stop infantilizing kids who want to learn). I asked him if he liked to imagine things and he nodded yes. After a few more moments of Q&A, he vanished as quickly as he arrived, no polite words of parting included. Lately I’ve been so torn about what to believe anymore as I struggle to figure out my place (figuratively but also very literally) in this dead end American Dream I was promised. Perhaps this synch sent me FOOLish clowns and a wise little boy to ask me to pick a cup, any cup, and imagine whatever I want from it. It’s time to make my own American dream.
Dear Caroline, writing to you from faraway Bangkok, on what is now my Monday lunchtime, to say that I absolutely loved this hodgement magpie writing piece. It makes me feel more comfortable to explore my own writing. And, your Cards are always on point! Thank you for sharing how you interpret them yourself. It was quite useful to read through. This is a period of big transition in my life and I wanted to let you know that I look forward to your posts on what are my Monday mornings. You help me start the week on a positive, open, expansive, creative note. Sending love and hugs.