I’ve never been much of a wisher.  For nearly seventy years, I blasphemed the sacred birthday candle ritual, first, by revealing my desire against Robert’s Rules or the Magna Carta or Declaration of Independence, (I’m sure it’s written down in some very important document), mandate for sworn secrecy, and second, by insincerely, yet consistently wishing for a pony, assuring that that wish would never come true, ditto the countless four-leaf-clover and first-star-I-see-tonight ones.  Oh, I’m sure that of the trillions and trillions of wishes, big and small, sheer random happenstance has resulted in perceived fulfillment, but my devout, gut skepticism leans nearly 180º in opposition to the Blue Fairy, Genii-in-a-bottle or bony-kneed-mall-Santa variety.  Yet, against my bi-polar nature, my innate need to view the world devoid of nuance, intellectually I am able to embrace the mysterious and scientifically unexplainable.  It is with that mindset that I have spent an unprecedented, (I think this should be the last use of that word…ever), amount of my Covid time collecting Tiki dolls, cat whiskers, the afore-mentioned clovers, ladybugs, fortune cookies, three copies, (Spanish, English and Hindi), of the Book of the Dead, a handwritten version of the I Ching, a rabbit’s foot, (still attached to a lively, fluffy bunny, just to make that perfectly clear), a nine-pound box of Bazooka Joe bubble gum, a Flash Gordon decoder ring, every box of Lucky Charms from Price Chopper, BJ’s and Target in Saratoga Springs, four Mega Millions quick picks, a #7 scratch-off and a tin of Red Man chewing tobacco, (don’t ask), from Stewart’s and I am revisiting all of my 74 birthday and Chanukkah wishes, however many star bright fantasies I indulged in, (albeit to placate some adolescent love interest or other), and I just found my Magic 8 Ball in the basement, (does anyone know if they can still impart knowledge if all of the liquid has dried up or leaked out over more than 60 years?).  Can you guess what I’m wishing for?