A confession

When I was a little girl, I read this very wondrous book called The Witch Family, in which the Head Witch of all the witches was so extremely wicked that two little girls called Amy and Clarissa were forced to the unpleasant expedient of banquishing her to the top of a glass hill until she could learn to behave herself. More or less to this end, she acquired a little witch girl and a weeny witchie baby, and then they lived with her too. (There was also a little mermaid that lived inside the glass hill, and the little witch girl sometimes went and hung out with her, and the little mermaid also had a baby sister, so that was fortunate for them both.)

In this book, which was one of my most favorite books of all as a kid, the witches are able to get things they want by saying Abracadabras, and of course they have to say the right one to achieve the desired effect, and the Head Witch of all the witches is the best at this, because of course she is the boss witch and must be good at it. They say spells like "Abracadabra / A B C / Flying through the air to me / Hotch / Cotch / In a potch / A weeny witchie baby do I see?"

This, it turns out, is how I view online purchases. I always have done. Every time I buy something online -- I've just bought a hardback illustrated edition of Stardust, since I like the book quite well and I like it much better with Charles Vess's elegant illustrations -- I feel vaguely like I have done an abracadabra, and I always think of that line, "Flying through the air to me", and I am never sure it's going to work. Because the little witch girl's abracadabras don't always work -- the one to get her baby sister doesn't work at all, and she has to enlist the Head Witch to assist her. I get a picture in my head of the book or whatever being wrapped up in packaging, flying out of the storeroom, and making its leisurely way to me across country. If it doesn't make it in time, I get cross, and it's officially with Amazon or Ebay, but in my heart of hearts I'm cross at the book or movie for delaying its arrival and probably having all kinds of good adventures of which I will always remain ignorant.

I confessed this for the first time in my life to my little sister last night. Before that I've never told a soul. It occurs to me that this is a completely absurd viewpoint to have, and I must embrace technology and recognize that when I buy something from Amazon, a worker finds the item, prints a receipt, slips the item and the receipt into a mailing envelope or box, addresses it, and ships it to me. There is no flying. There are no excellent adventures. I must face the cold hard reality of the post.

As a side note, I am presently thinking of a story set in a post office, and one of the main people in it is called Hannah, which is not officially after the little witch girl in The Witch Family, but since I don't in my heart of hearts entirely believe in this post office myth, it is probably a subconscious reference to the fact that, I'm sorry, but that post you're getting? It's coming to you by Abracadabra, and if you didn't say it yourself, that proves nothing, because obviously someone said it, or else how do you think -- this is almost too obvious to bother explaining -- how do you think that those packages found their way to your doorstep? Sheesh.