My Christmas *Miracle*

A gift from an angel (or two).

Oxford Pennant

Julie comes to me in dreams. I’m hardly the only one. Since her passing at the end of August, her wife, Eva, and some of Julie’s friends have been notified by a psychic medium they’ve visited that Julie keeps coming through to her with new, uncanny messages. She’s been bombarding me with them, too.

In the wee hours of December 22nd, I dreamt that something very good had happened for me (I can’t recall specifically what) and so I thanked Whoever Is In Charge of the Universe (hence forth “WIICOTU,” pronounced WHY-co-tu), aka the most approachable understanding of “god” a fucked up clergy kid like me can hang with. I said, “Thank you, WIICOTU,” and then Julie popped in out of nowhere and said, “You’re welcome!” And I said, “Julie?!?” And she said, “I’ve been appointed the new WIICOTU!!!” If only the ghost of Julie Novak were in charge of The Universe. It would be a more cheerful and equitable place.

Julie and me.

I’ve written before about being a bit psychic, and receiving uncanny visitations from the dead. As I’ve said more than once, I don’t think it’s magic, or something special about me. I have a suspicion that our brains have underdeveloped and as yet under-researched ways of communicating with other brains, perhaps both alive and dead, and remotely intuiting certain kinds of information. I sure wish I knew how to harness this spotty, intermittent ability of mine, and use it for good. Maybe someday. But I believe it’s real.

After my visit from Julie I emailed Eva to tell her about it. The next day an anonymous package arrived containing a felt banner from Oxford Pennant emblazoned with the following sentiment: Who the fuck are they, and who cares what they think? There was a form-postcard in the package that had its “To” and “From” fields blank, plus an invoice that didn’t include any information about whoever had made this purchase.

Receiving this anonymous gift lifted my spirits like nothing in recent memory.

I posted about it on social media and in my magazines, asking who might have so generously sent this to me. For days, no one ‘fessed up. I emailed Eva about it, saying essentially, “If I didn’t know that dead people can’t shop online, I’d swear this was from Julie.” Two minutes after I sent that email, a friend commented on my related instagram post, “This has Julie written all over it.” I got chills.

It really did have Julie written all over it. In the past, Julie had made me gifts with sayings on them. Among other things, somewhere in my garage there’s a sign she made me that says, “Don’t believe everything you think.” For my Kingston memoir launch she made me a trail marker with the title of my book, “And You May Find Yourself,” imbuing the phrase with additional meaning.

It was also the message I needed to receive right then. I’ve been struggling, once again, to feel permitted to write certain things, and also to take certain creative risks—to take up space with things I want to do—lest I embarrass myself or draw barbs from the mean kids of Internet High.

In a prior visit from Julie in September, she told me I needed to bravely put myself out there, to stop holding myself back. She said, “Look at me. My life got cut short. I didn’t get to do so many things I wanted to. Shoot your shots, girl, before it’s too late.” In the days after that dream, I felt Julie literally pushing me, leading me to finally record the audio version of my memoir (out in the next few weeks), to follow up on an offer of free publicity from a pro that I’d been reluctant to accept, and to pursue a few other scary creative opportunities.

It had to be Julie who sent me the banner, right? I mean, if there’s anyone who’d figure out a way to communicate from the other side (and even engage in e-commerce from there)—if there was anyone in my life who’d truly come to embody the message of “Who the fuck are they, and who cares what they think?” (after years of first caring dangerously way too much what they think) surely it was this guy:

Brian and I had what turned out to be a sweet, quiet Christmas at home, just the two of us. And while in anticipation of spending the holiday alone, my spirits had been down, now they were buoyed by what felt like a Christmas miracle: a meaningful present from Julie, sent from the great beyond. With no one else stepping forward, I leaned in hard to the belief that this gift had come from no one other than the newly appointed WIICOTU. It warmed my heart and gave me an inkling of hope, a nice diversion from the shitty state of the country and the world.

***

A few days later I received a Facebook DM from

Kathleen McKitty Harris

, a writer and storyteller whose work I enjoy, in which she confessed she’d been my secret Santa. Among other things, she wrote, “I know this has been a tough couple of months for you with Julie’s passing—and figured you might be in need of a little holiday magic.” (Emphasis mine.)

Apparently months before, I’d liked and commented on Kathleen’s post about that same Oxford Pennant flag, something I only vaguely remember doing. So she knew the flag was something I’d want. Mystery solved.

I couldn’t thank Kathleen enough for her unbelievably kind, thoughtful gift, which lifted me temporarily from my winter funk.

The flag now sits right near the trail marker Julie made me, on my sort of inspiration wall.

What I didn’t tell Kathleen is that I’ve chosen to believe Julie might have given her a little push to follow her very generous instinct—the kind of push Julie’s been giving me on the regular. Why not keep the holiday magic alive for myself, especially in these dark times? -Sari

The program from “Calling All Angels,” an evening of song at Bearsville Theater in 2015 to benefit The Washbourne House, a local domestic violence shelter. Julie and I sang “Islands in the Stream” together then. I did the Dolly Parton part, and she did the Kenny Rogers part. I now think Julie might be an actual angel.

This audio clip is of Julie and me on her WKNY radio show, “No One Like You,” harmonizing remotely (via the A Capella app) on a section of “Islands in the Stream.”:

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In other news…

• May 3rd I’ll be moderating a panel at

  Rachel Kramer Bussel
  ’s
  Open Secrets
  Live! symposium in Manhattan. It’s a great lineup. Early bird tickets are $25 through January 31 (or until they sell out) and they go up to $35 on February 1 if any are left.