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dedicated or passionate about…anything.
    “What do you think I was doing all day? I studied the book,” Fern replied as she struck a match to relight the candles.
    There was no stopping Fern now.
And anyway,
thought Marina,
it’s high time I did something without worrying about every inch of it.
    Fern stood up. With a straight arm and extended index and middle fingers, she slowly turned, drawing the circle around the room. “I now cast this circle for magic. Let this space become a world between heaven and earth.”
    Marina closed her eyes. She felt a jolt in her stomach, and her heart leapt to her throat. Chills chased each other up her arms.
    “Imagine your body is the trunk of a tree with branches reaching to the sky and roots pushing down through the earth,” Fern read, speaking in a trancelike monotone.
    Marina wondered if it mattered what kind of tree. She thought of the massive five-hundred-year-old oak tree in Irvine Park. When they were kids, she and Fern had hugged the tree from opposite sides and hadn’t even come close to touching each other’s fingertips. The more she concentrated on being an oak tree, which seemed solid and strong to her, the more she could feel her feet stretch into roots that grew and grew through the layers of earth. Her arms became waving branches that extended through the heavens to wrap around a single star of an intricate constellation. She liked being a tree. It made her feel like no one could push her around.
    “Okay,” Fern whispered. “It’s time to welcome the four quarters.”
    “What’s a quarter?” Marina asked dreamily.
    “Quarters represent the directions; you know, like east, west. And you need to face each direction as you welcome it.”
    After they took turns welcoming the four directions, Father Sky, and Mother Earth, Marina grabbed two Popsicle sticks. “I feel all tingly.”
    “I know,” Fern agreed. “Okay, the book says to make an equilateral cross with the Popsicle sticks and glue them together at the center.” After completing the first task, they cut several long strands of yarn. Following the directions, Fern showed Marina how to weave the yarn over the top of the first stick, then under the next stick. “Now we concentrate on receiving a magical power while we work,” Fern said. “It’s like when Native Americans say prayers as they make dream catchers.”
    Marina wove together shades of blue until she had completed a perfect diamond-shaped god’s eye.
    “Next we need to bury them in the earth and bless them by saying, ‘Sun above, whose gift of light is given to me, I ask for your blessings of a magical power. This I make true, three times three, times three,’” Fern announced.
    “Why three?” Marina asked.
    “Three must be a magic number. You know, like ‘third time’s a charm’?”
    “Maybe we should make three god’s eyes?” Marina suggested.
    “Okay,” Fern agreed.
    When they finished, Marina slipped into her sandals to go outside. Fern was barefoot, as usual. They collected the three god’s eyes and their food, then stole down the hallway and through the immaculate kitchen. As they traipsed through the den, Marina stared at the oval sepia picture of her maternal grandmother and wondered what that mysterious woman would have thought of this ritual. Marina had never known her nana, who had died one month before Marina was born. Everyone in the family said Marina’s birth was a blessing, which for someone like Marina translated into a lot of pressure to be successful and accomplished.
    In this sepia photograph, Nana was four, and she looked like an angel with her tranquil expression and velvety smooth face. Marina had come to think of her nana as a legend, more surreal and imaginary than a real person. The exact same picture of Nana was on display at Marina’s home, and in the homes of her aunt Carmen and Grandpy. Her mother spoke in reverential tones about Nana and her prestigious Spanish bloodline. On the other