Neither Husband nor I are gamblers by nature but at least one of us is a sucker for a raffle. I don’t buy lottery tickets and I won’t put a chip on a table and watch a wheel spin because these efforts simply do not speak to me. But put me in front of a showcase of items being raffled off and as sure as Scarlett O’Hara will never go hungry again, I’m taking one of those babies home with me.
It’s a numbers game. I’m not talking about numbers as in statistics and probability; I’m talking numbers as in lucky. Everything in the universe has energy, positive and negative, and it is my belief that prizes are open pits ready to receive the most positive energy flowing their way and that energy would be coming from me. When entering a situation high in raffle possibility, I have been known to produce address labels from my wallet ready to be stuck right on the ticket so there will be no debate as to where to contact the winner. Husband calls me a Raffle Savant and I am insane enough to find that flattering.
On our recent trip to the Four Corners area of the Southwest, one of our planned destinations was the annual Navajo Totah Festival in Farmington, New Mexico. We happened upon this event by chance about six years ago and have returned four times now, enjoying it each time as much as the last. It is a weekend-long celebration of Navajo culture featuring ceremonial dancing, Native food, juried art and jewelry creations and community spirit culminating in a Navajo rug auction that is unlike anything else we’ve seen in our travels.
And each year the Native craftspeople at the festival donate items for raffle. Exquisite and one-of-a-kind, they range from turquoise earrings to pottery Storyteller figures; from hand woven blankets to sand art pictures. Not only are they all as potentially mine as they are anyone else’s, but every year that we have attended one of my tickets was picked a winner.
As Husband strolled the room taking in the displays, I hovered by the cabinet of raffle offerings shooting rays of positive energy through the glass. By the time he circled around I was sticking my address labels on $10 worth.
“How many are you buying?”
“Well, it’s 6 for $5 and 12 for $10 and 6 is a lucky number but I want more than 6 and 12 isn’t lucky.”
“Why is 6 lucky?”
“It was the number on Son’s first Little League jersey.”
“What’s wrong with 12?”
“It has no meaning. It’s not lucky. I suppose I could just give in 11. Eleven was his basketball number. But that would be wasting a ticket. I could always buy 6 more and make it 18. Eighteen is really lucky.”
“What’s with 18?”
“It’s the date of Daughter’s bat mitzvah. June 18, 1994.”
“You know you need help.”
“And I’m getting it. But right now I’m on vacation.”
I bought 6 more.
Two days later as we were signing the liability waiver in Flagstaff for the motorcycle rental, my cell phone rang.
“Hello? I’m calling from the Totah Festival. You won something at our raffle. If you’re out of the area we can arrange to send it to you. Should we do that or can you come get it?”
“Thank you! Yes, would you send it? We’re in Arizona now. What did I win?”
“Oh, I don’t have that list here, just the winners. But I do show that you won two prizes. Congratulations!”
I turned to Husband who was waiting for my signature releasing the rental company from any responsibility should we decapitate ourselves while riding their equipment. Now maybe it’s me but that just doesn’t seem lucky.
Pictures from the Navajo Totah Festival and the Arizona road
Ceremonial dancer on break
Dancers awaiting their category to compete
Girls’ Fancy Dress and Jingle competition
Flagstaff crossroads by bike