Jill Lipton Jill Lipton

I Live a Charmed Life

When I was 12 my mom had placed three gold charms from her bracelet into a pink silk bag in a rare moment of ceremony.  Offering it to her daughters, she said we might find our destinies.

My older sister pulled out a tiny pearl-capped perfume bottle, scented with Shalimar.  “Beauty,” our mother whispered.  My younger sister revealed a miniature safe with a real dollar folded inside. “Wealth,” mom nodded.   

I looked at the cryptic object in my hand, a horseshoe with a lettered disc suspended in its middle.  One side read “IOEO,” the other “LVYU.”  I looked at my mom, puzzled.  

“If you spin it fast enough it reads I love you,” she explained.  

I’ve been revolving ever since.

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