Rancho Tarzanadu: "Miss Linda Inadvertently Sticks Her Hand Inside a Spirit"

     Miss Linda hosted a 4th of July party every year; not because she was particularly patriotic, but because the El Caballero Country Club shot off fireworks every year for their members and the fireworks just happened to explode right over Miss Linda’s backyard, as her house overlooked the tee-off hole. This was also her parents’ wedding anniversary, and they, too, had hosted many 4th of July parties here in their younger days. 

     Each year that Overlord L’Orange was in office, it was getting harder and harder to muster up the energy to celebrate the birth of our country, and it seemed ironic now that it was called “Independence Day”, as the Overlord was chipping away at everyone’s freedom and independence on a daily basis. Miss Linda loved to dress up for any occasion, but donning the ‘ole Red, White, and Blue attire was getting less inspiring with each passing year of his administration. Miss Linda tried to focus instead on her friends who showed up to celebrate, and the delicious potluck spread that they brought with them. There was usually enough food and alcohol left over to last for a couple of weeks or more. Except for the beer, which Manuel polished off post-haste. 

     On this particular evening, Miss Linda was cleaning up in the wee hours of the night after a very successful party (she had a reputation for throwing successful parties), and was downstairs alone in the dining room putting away stars-and-stripes serving platters inside the party pantry, when she turned away from the cupboard door to reach for another platter on the sideboard and stuck her hand directly inside some plasmic goo, hovering mid-air, about chest level. It was invisible, but tangible. Miss Linda gasped, but was not altogether taken aback, as she was somewhat used to unusual things happening. She took a deep breath and waited. Nothing. She reached her hand out again, but the plasmic goo was gone, leaving only a slight residue on the floor at her feet, and a pervasive scent of Night-Blooming Jasmine.

     This happened to be the room that her father had died in, several years before. “Poppa?” she asked. There was no answer.

     Just then a very late-night (or very early-morning) firework randomly exploded over the house, showering down golden-white trails of expansive dancing light.

     Miss Linda was a strong believer in “signs”, delivered in various forms.