Magic, Not Magic

This is magic:

Pots of tinted goo applied by paintbrush.

Seeing an old and beloved friend in the hair-do chair right there.

Being told to interrupt. "You're gonna have to," she said.

Counting down seconds so fast, you barely notice that you're "on."

Seeing your wrapped up sister and her uber-cool daughter dance through the studio door like Christmas morning.

This is NOT magic:

Do you remember Carolyn Online's Bubba?

Bubba fixed a temporary problem with a permanent one. Bubba is dead.

I read all that Carolyn wrote about him. Her words were funny and sort of snarky for sure, but every little word she wrote was tinged with a bit of curious awe. It was obvious to me, even from the start, from a distance, that there was a part of Carolyn that adored him: his brashness, his willingness to show up with a dead deer at Thanksgiving in Buckhead, his devotion to his passion, his sport, his Bubba-ness, and his love for his son.

He loved his son.

Carolyn always admired him most for that.

The Today Show thing came out of the blue, as did Carolyn's horrible news -- and pretty much at the same time. We have typically been on the same path, but I figured our next "coincidence" would be buying tickets to see "The Help." It did not happen this way this time.

This is the thing about magic: it is tricky and fickle.

It does not cotton nor cooperate. It does as it will -- like luck, like God maybe -- and the best we can do is salute it when it swings by. Magic appears in our unusual days, like the one I had today (stars! makeup! cameras! crazy!), but sometimes it appears when we least expect it, when we're washing the dishes, or folding the laundry, or planning the car pool, or when we see a flash of camouflage say, or read a recipe for venison.

Magic will come to Carolyn and her family: I know it.

If not magic now, some sweet breath of peace until then.

LOVE YOU CAROLYN and scott and tempel and parker and s and J. Punch.