Dear St. Anthony

I was eight when I discovered the intractable powers of St. Anthony, the patron saint of all things lost. Given that I seem to carry my own personal Bermuda Triangle in my aura, it is often that I have communed with the man. The paradox of being a heathen focusing all her energies into begging St. Anthony to intervene, immaterial. Strange, given that I usually get my Catholics to pray for me when in need, rather than be a hypocrite. I never told anyone ~(well, except BV - but given he's had to put up with my religious fervour at bedtime when it came time to shut off the light, it didn't seem to be as embarrassing a revelation) about this. But my faith in St. Anthony is unshakable. I never use him for futile searches. Only when it's a biggie, and he doesn't mind that I'm a bit scatty about lighting the candle.

Eight was a defining year. It gave me St. Anthony, vanished shoes and cardigan, and the knowledge (if not the realisation) that I have the innate ability of fuelling a frenzy. All it takes is a single shark and some blood and before you know it, it's a NatGeo moment. I think her name was Anita, and she had an incredible fear of big bugs. Vaitarna seem to breed big, fat, flying bugs in copious quantities, and they'd always seem to find their way to her person.... I'm not a huge bug fan, but 'nice' people are more apt to give me a coronary, yet I'd be the pesky eight year old yeowling that she's got a mother of a bug on her back, which would set the poor creature off (girl not bug), and we'd have a beam shattering seven minutes of screaming to get the bug off her back.

Totally unnecessary, yet somehow deeply fulfilling. A genetic predisposition towards a Drama queen in the making..... 31 years on, and a much delayed realisation, that it's my sheer lack of any restraint that leads to frequent frenzies occurring in the vicinity. So easy to quell with a little self command. But I am as much an alien fused B'Elana as I am that screaming eight year old. Life's just too short for restraints...... unless they're tied to the bed frame ;-).

Dear St. Anthony (ahem), thank you for helping me find myself again.

P. S. - Just to be clear, I didn't ask for the 'lost' vouchers to be found.