Her daughter’s cat was missing. Where could she turn for help? An on-line Wiccan friend and a home-made ritual restore the richness of a woman’s Christian faith.
“Did you let him in last night?” I asked. It had rained in the early morning, and the temperature had dropped into the fifties. I shivered and hugged myself as I stood in the back doorway.
“No, I thought you did.” My husband sounded vague behind his newspaper, the way he does when he isn’t listening to himself talk.
“Well, where is he?” I peered as far into the distance as the trees surrounding our house would let me.
“How do I know? I’m not a psychic.” He lowered the paper. “Say, why don’t you ask one of your Time-O’-Days?”
I gave him A Look. “I am not in the mood for levity.” I had recently “met” several Wiccans online, in a religious diversity chat room. One called herself Twilight and another went by Evensong. My husband, in a good-natured but mistaken attempt at humor, called them my Time-O’-Days. He had asked me if I planned to change my name, and I told him it depended on whether or not I could find one that meant “married to a horse’s ass.”