I got a bunny buck. For those of you ‘not from around here,’ bunny bucks are the vouchers awarded to faithful patrons of a local grocery store. In the weeks preceding Easter, customers receive bunny bucks based on purchases. When you accumulate all seven you get ten dollars off your groceries–or a ham.
Yesterday while shopping there with daughter Elise, I commented that I only needed one more coveted bunny buck, and I hoped it didn’t turn out last year, when, ‘woe unto me,’ I forgot to cash them in. Much lamenting followed–by me. The others bore up. Well, lo and behold, as I’m in the checkout line an elderly woman tapped me on the shoulder to ask if I needed a bunny buck. Why yes! Magic, right? Then it occurred to me that I’d used up my wish on a bunny buck. Apparently, I’m alloted a certain number. Not many.
Years ago, when we were poor as church mice, not sure what we’ve gravitated to now, barn rats maybe, I’d recently given birth to my eldest daughter and had a craving for potato chips–not something our budget extended to. Generic saltines were the limit and I even made my own crackers. They were pretty bad and live on in family lore. But back to the longed for chips. Weary, as new mothers are, I took a nap with the wee ones and awoke to discover an Old Order Mennonite neighbor on my doorstep holding a paper bag which she extended to me saying, ‘Our family got together today and made potato chips. As I was passing, I thought you might like some.’
I just stared at her. My wish was granted. We might lose the farm, but by golly I had potato chips. Similar events have led me to the conclusion that sometimes, in the most unexpected ways, my wishes come true. Not the miraculous answer to prayer sort of way, but the kind a fairy Godmother might grant with a wave of her wand. Either I need to be loftier in my wishes or more specific.
Well, we didn’t win the lottery my hubby informed me this morning–he’d actually gone all out and bought two tickets. Nope, I got us a bunny buck.