I learned about the Tarot from my mother. She learned about it from the cigani, or Gypsies, which is what they were called then.
They didn’t have Tarot decks in the villages my parents grew up in, just well worn packs of playing cards which served the same purpose. My mother’s cards sat beside the fruit bowl on the kitchen table, waiting for my torrent of questions. Should I? Shouldn’t I? Does he? Doesn’t he? Will we? Won’t we? I never said the questions out loud, but she always knew.
Once, my mother surveyed the cards and drew in a long, grave breath. “He loves you,’ she said, and three weeks later, he did.
Sometimes, people ask me if I believe in these things. I try to explain that habits aren’t a matter of belief. They’re just what you’re used to.