CHARMED, I'M SURE

In sleep, I dream not of genies, but of witches. Not witches of Eastwick, or wicked witches of the west or other weathervaned directions, not even of Willow and Tara. These witches are sisters, and live in the magical land known as the WB.

I would like to be like Piper, who has the power to freeze time, or, when feelings are intensified, explode objects or demons that stand in the way of good winning the day. I would like to be like Phoebe, the boy-crazy, premonition-haunted one, who has the power to see the future and transform a tragic outcome into a peaceful one. I would like to be a master of potions like Paige, an herbalist of the highest order, who could cure what ails people and banish demons into the ether.

I would have gladly accepted the gifts of doomed eldest sister Prue, whose ability to move objects with her mind would be of great help to me in organizing my apartment, but when witches cast spells for their own personal gain, there's always a backlash. The ability to orb from one place to another would save me many Metrocards and stupid little black umbrellas that I keep purchasing, breaking and then trashing in Manhattan's many rainstorms.

Or perhaps I'd rather be a Whitelighter, bearing the power to heal the sick in an instant, and able to beam myself up to the Elders and pose my questions regarding the state of the world, and the balance between good and evil. They'd discourage my queries, and restrict access to the information I craved, but at least they'd know I'd challenged them.

I would live in a house on a hill in San Francisco, close to the bay, with my sisters. We would not be mere witches, but magical Charmed ones, whose power would cause Evil to quake like the shifts of tectonic plates beneath the West Coast. I would fight for what is Good and Right and Just. I would date demons and wizards and cops and magazine editors, always seeing the good within them but my secret always serving as terminator to any nascent relationship. I would help the police solve crimes without any tricky forensics training, orbing into jail cells to talk with prisoners, brewing potions to help people become more tolerant of each other. When times were too difficult to bear alone, I would consult a great book which would provide me with answers. And when solutions still eluded me, I would call on the spirits of my ancestors to share their wisdom, and they would appear to me as solid and tangible as my own flesh.

Call me witchy woman, if you will. I answer only to Good.

CHARMED, I'M SURE

In sleep, I dream not of genies, but of witches. Not witches of Eastwick, or wicked witches of the west or other weathervaned directions, not even of Willow and Tara. These witches are sisters, and live in the magical land known as the WB.

I would like to be like Piper, who has the power to freeze time, or, when feelings are intensified, explode objects or demons that stand in the way of good winning the day. I would like to be like Phoebe, the boy-crazy, premonition-haunted one, who has the power to see the future and transform a tragic outcome into a peaceful one. I would like to be a master of potions like Paige, an herbalist of the highest order, who could cure what ails people and banish demons into the ether.

I would have gladly accepted the gifts of doomed eldest sister Prue, whose ability to move objects with her mind would be of great help to me in organizing my apartment, but when witches cast spells for their own personal gain, there's always a backlash. The ability to orb from one place to another would save me many Metrocards and stupid little black umbrellas that I keep purchasing, breaking and then trashing in Manhattan's many rainstorms.

Or perhaps I'd rather be a Whitelighter, bearing the power to heal the sick in an instant, and able to beam myself up to the Elders and pose my questions regarding the state of the world, and the balance between good and evil. They'd discourage my queries, and restrict access to the information I craved, but at least they'd know I'd challenged them.

I would live in a house on a hill in San Francisco, close to the bay, with my sisters. We would not be mere witches, but magical Charmed ones, whose power would cause Evil to quake like the shifts of tectonic plates beneath the West Coast. I would fight for what is Good and Right and Just. I would date demons and wizards and cops and magazine editors, always seeing the good within them but my secret always serving as terminator to any nascent relationship. I would help the police solve crimes without any tricky forensics training, orbing into jail cells to talk with prisoners, brewing potions to help people become more tolerant of each other. When times were too difficult to bear alone, I would consult a great book which would provide me with answers. And when solutions still eluded me, I would call on the spirits of my ancestors to share their wisdom, and they would appear to me as solid and tangible as my own flesh.

Call me witchy woman, if you will. I answer only to Good.