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Ruralite Cafe: Published 5/18/00

By Lisa Majors-Duff



When I wish upon a star

 By Lynn Hotaling - Associate Editor
Three wishes. The very concept is infinite in its ability to excite and terrify by asking just one question: What if they came true?

I've been thinking a lot lately about wishes and what they mean, especially since I wished outloud that the Cafe would put hummus on the menu. The results of that wish turned out not to be the aroma of ground chick peas and garlic coming from my favorite eatery; instead, I've been getting some rather tastless jokes from Cafe regulars.

"Hey, Lisa, 'hum us' a few bars of 'Cheeseburger in Paradise.'" Ha ha. Very funny.

Wishes were simple when we were very young. We wished for a new bike for Christmas, a puppy on our birthday and clear reception when we sat down, cereal bowl in hand, to watch Saturday morning cartoons.

As we got a little older and became more aware of the world, our wishes changed. We wished for things that would lavish attention our way. I can remember watching as that lucky kid with the plaster cast or a set of braces got all the attention and actually wishing for a broken bone and crooked teeth. One cracked ankle later, and I had refined my wish making to popularity, plain and simple.

Instead of deformaties, talent of any kind became my wish to win friends and influence people. A beautiful singing voice, a knack for the piano or the ability to braid my own hair ­ these were what I wished for. But as we all learn sooner or later, there's nothing plain or simple about popularity. Your friends are who they are. You are who you are. Neither of these facts, though, can keep a girl from dreaming.

Eventually we stop calling them wishes and move on to more mature references, like goals and aspirations. "My goal is to marry Prince Charming, live in four-bedroom, two-bath house and give painless birth to two perfectly behaved children." These sound more like fantasies, don't they?

And while we're in fantasy land, where we travel by magic carpet to a meeting with the inhabitant of an Arabian oil lamp, who can tell me when to put a lid on the amount? At least one of our three wishes we always reserve for money, but where do we stop counting? I used to think that a cool million would make me happy; now I doubt that $1 billion would.

Lately my wishes have been toned down, more on line with hopes to get through the day. "I hope I didn't leave anyone's story out of the paper; I hope the commissioners' meeting doesn't run too late tonight so I can get home before my daughter falls asleep."

Though it can be fun to fantasize about being granted three wishes, they should not be confused with priorities and old-fashioned hard work, I have discovered. And they should never be sought over the good things in life.

There's nothing like a Mother's Day breakfast in bed, complete with homemade cranberry-walnut muffins, coffee and fresh flowers, to make me realize that's what's right in front of me is better than any three wishes I could dream up.

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