Today's story is brought to you by the Two of Coins, at the bottom of the deck, and by the Five of Wands, the Nine of Coins, and the Two of Swords.

Starring:

The Three of Cups, who is trying to buy back her grandmother's house, and maybe a little of her own childhood with it

The Six of Wands, who really loves red and tells the truth whenever she feels like it.

The Two of Wands, who starts everything first and never reads the instructions

With Death, who turns one thing into another thing, whether you like it or not; La Maison Dieu, the Sheriff, who always arrives right as things fall down; as well as appearances by Justice, the old-school marm who sits on the town council with The Emperor,  as well as The Magician, The Star, and Four of Coins.

A shout-out to the folks on Patreon, whose paid subscriptions allow this to happen! This wouldn't be possible without my paid Patrons and reading clients, whose financial support covers the cost of things like Canva and Grammarly Pro, the existence of 78numbers.com, the entrance fees for the markets I've been able to participate in, the medical bills and groceries that don't pay for themselves, and the dark roast coffee that helps to keep my motor humming.

The house on Elm Street had been empty for six years, and in that time Tarot Town had developed a deep and affectionate relationship with it, the way you can love a thing best when you don't have to maintain it. Everyone had a story about the Three of Cups' grandmother's kitchen. After she passed during the COVID lockdowns, the house remained unoccupied. People just couldn't bring themselves to do anything. It stood as a symbol of both happy homespun memories AND a time in collective history that no one wanted to revisit. As a result, nobody had paid the property taxes or done the necessary maintenance. By autumn of this year, the county had run out of patience and grace periods, and the choice was plain: someone buys the house, signs a loan the size of a small mountain, and fixes it, or Death buys it at auction and turns it into something else.

Nobody in Tarot Town likes it when Death shows up with a clipboard, though everybody hires him eventually. He buys what's finished and turns it into what's next: the old mill became apartments, the bowling alley became the library annex, and nobody has ever once thanked him at the time. He would tell you, if you asked, that the house was going to change either way. The only question was who got to decide into what.

The town council meeting on Tuesday night was about as civil as a dogfight in a phone booth. Justice, who has taught most of the town to read and behave, sat at the Emperor's right hand with her glasses on a chain, and she did not need a gavel. The Three of Cups, who had barely slept, stood up to say the house still felt important to her and the rest of the Cups family. Death, in the back row, said that family was lovely, but the roof was collapsing. Somebody's cousin said everybody wanted the lilacs saved, but nobody wanted to be the one holding the shovel.

And the Six of Wands, wearing red leather to match her mood, rose from the third row and said what everyone had been politely not saying: that Tarot Town loved that house the way it loved a funeral, loudly and for one afternoon.

The room went quiet.

From the side wall, the Two of Wands announced that if somebody handed him a key he'd start pulling up the rotten porch at dawn, and he did not appear to have thought about who owned the porch or why that might matter.

The Sheriff, who was leaning in the doorway with his hat in his hand, smiled at the Six of Wands and said mildly, as he glanced toward the Two of Wands, that nobody was pulling up anything until somebody had a key, and the Two of Wands stopped short and nodded as if he'd agreed with him.

The Emperor, who runs the town and dislikes watching a room get away from him, made a snap call on instinct: sixty days, and the Three of Cups gets first claim. Justice peered at him over her glasses and informed him, in the voice she once used on third-graders, that he could not do that.

Then, after a pause, she found a way that he could.

By morning, someone's hasty text had gone to the wrong group chat, and the Sheriff had read three very rude messages about Death's methods.

What followed was sixty days of the least glamorous work in the world.

The Three of Cups sat in the bank and at the county office, learning the system the hard way. There was a long-term plan to write, and then a longer one under it. She learned what the taxes actually were, rather than what everybody remembered them being. She learned what a roof cost, what insurance wanted, what the bank meant by reserves, and exactly how much sentiment a loan officer was prepared to accept as collateral.

The Two of Wands, who had heard "nobody's pulling up anything" as more of a suggestion, went at the porch on day four without a key, and the porch, which had been held together by the laws of physics and happy thoughts for many years, simply gave up the ghost when he pulled that one magic board holding it all together. It went all at once, with him on it.

The Sheriff, who has spent his career being the person who arrives right after things fall down, pulled up with his lights on and no siren, out of respect for the neighbours. He wrote the Two of Wands a citation for trespassing, hauled him out of the hole by the belt, strung yellow tape around the wreckage, and observed that whatever the Two of Wands had been planning to say about that porch, the porch had said it first.

Death, to everyone's surprise, was not bothered at all.

He turned up with his tape measure and an offer: his demolition crew was not coming; he'd take the contractor's job, and everything the house no longer needed would go to his salvage yard. The rotten beams, the mildewed wallpaper, and the splintered porch boards were hauled away without ceremony and without sentiment, and the house, to its own surprise, felt lighter.

The Magician came to supervise, mostly because the Two of Wands had now hit his thumb with a hammer, burned his hand on a torch, and gone through a porch, and was clearly on his way to a fourth accident. The Magician put a plane in his hands, showed him the grain of a board, and said that most things worth building start with knowing how to use the tools in front of you.

The Six of Wands showed up on day six to "help with the design" and spent forty minutes arguing with the Two of Wands about whether the front door should be red. He is family, and therefore the only person alive allowed to tell her no.

He said red was a lot.

She said that was the point.

They shouted, then shouted louder, then went quiet in the way that is not quiet at all, which is how family does it. That was when the Sheriff came by to check on his yellow tape. The Six of Wands, still flushed from the argument, looked at him, looked at the tape, and announced in the middle of Elm Street that she was crazy about him and he could deal with it.

"I'm standing right here," said the Two of Wands.

The Sheriff took off his hat, thought it over for exactly one second, and dealt with it instantly. It was a kiss that would go down in Tarot Town history for generations to come, and for once the Sheriff arrived before something fell down.

The Three of Cups, meanwhile, spent a lot of time alone in her grandmother's empty kitchen with a venti pumpkin spice and a lot of old feelings, and somewhere in the third week she stopped crying about the house and started planning it.

There were things she wanted to keep because they mattered, and things she discovered she only wanted to keep because they had always been there. Death made her choose.

The lilacs could stay.

The floors could stay.

But certain walls, supporting beams, and the back stairs could not.

For two days she was furious with him, especially about the stairs. On the third, he showed her the rot that was developing and asked whether she wanted the structures within the house or the wood itself.

That was a different question.

It was grit and not luck that got her through the sixty days, and she knew it, and the whole town knew it too. By the final week, she could tell you what the mortgage payment would be, when the county bill came due, what had been spent on lumber, and which repairs could wait until spring. Everybody else remembered her grandmother's house.

She knew what it would take to keep it standing.

On the last day, Justice read the contract aloud, every clause, as is her habit.

The Three of Cups followed along with a folder open in front of her. When Justice reached the tax schedule, she already had the page marked. When she reached the financing terms, the Three of Cups quietly corrected a figure that had been carried over from an earlier draft.

Justice stopped and looked over her glasses, checked twice, and then nodded once and continued reading.

The Three of Cups would own the house. Death would renovate it. The lilacs would stay, and the kitchen would stay, and the salvaged wood from the old back stairs and support beams inside the house would come back as the legs and top of a very long table, contracted by Death to the Seven and Eight of Coins.

The Three of Cups signed, then Death, then Justice stamped it with a flourish that made the whole room straighten up.

The Four of Coins, acting as the representative of the bank handed the Three of Cups the keys.

Then he handed her the mortgage schedule.

The county clerk handed her the property-tax dates.

Death, apparently unwilling to let a moment become too ceremonial, reminded her that the gutters would need looking at again in five years.

The Three of Cups put all three things into her folder.

"Fine," she said.

And meant it.

Before the ink dried, the Six of Wands announced that she and the Sheriff would be having dinner on Friday, which surprised absolutely nobody except possibly the Sheriff, who put his hat back on and said that sounded fine.

The Star brought paintings for the front hall, and the open house that came a few months later felt like a gallery opening and a family reunion rolled into one, with the long table set in the brand new dining room beside the kitchen she'd been able to keep…with a few modifications from Death’s crew that brought it up to code. The front door, for the record, was still red.

The only real crisis came at dinner, when the guests stood in a clump over the seating chart, each one waiting for someone else to choose, desperate to please everyone and therefore unable to please anyone.

The Three of Cups finally laughed and told them to sit anywhere.

They did.

Death took the chair at the end, looked around at the house he had changed, and for once, everyone thanked him. "Don't get used to that," the Sheriff said, as he and Death laughed a little.

Today's side quest is brought to you by the Knight of Wands, the Ten of Swords, and the Two of Cups, with the Seven of Wands holding things up from the bottom of the deck.

Starring: the Eight of Coins, the Knight of Swords, and Temperance. (And, since he flipped across the table from his original pile and refused to stay out of it, the Knight of Wands. Of course, he wanted more spotlight.)

There's a large empty lot on Main Street, right next door to Temperance's little credit counselling office. If you've driven through Tarot Town, you've seen it. It's the yellow ground between the office and the bakery, dry as toast, rocky as a riverbed, and completely bare except for one small green plant that pokes up near the sidewalk like it didn't get the memo.

Last spring, the town council voted to let someone build something on that lot for the whole community to enjoy. They posted a notice. They waited. For months, nobody applied.

Then, on the very same Monday morning, two applications landed on Temperance's desk at the town offices within ten minutes of each other.

The first came from the Knight of Wands, who strode into the office in a jacket bright enough to be seen from space and a hat with a little infinity loop stitched into the brim. His application was a sketch on the back of a diner napkin. "An outdoor stage," he announced, tapping it. "Lights. Music. Big enough for the whole town. I can have it up by Hallowe'en."

Temperance was still reading the sketch through what appeared to be a dry smear of duck sauce when the Knight of Swords arrived, carrying a cardboard tube under one arm. Out came forty-two pages of plans for a pavilion, with elevations, drainage diagrams, a seating chart and three pages of footnotes on acoustics. "It has to be done properly," he said, glancing sideways at the napkin. "Some of us think things through."

"Some of us actually build things," said the Knight of Wands.

And that, as they say, was that.

Now, here's the thing about these two. They're both builders. They both love making beautiful things, and they're both genuinely talented. But the Knight of Wands is all fire, and the Knight of Swords is all air, and if you've ever blown on a campfire, you know what happens when you put those two together. Every time the Knight of Wands made his stage bigger, the Knight of Swords made his pavilion better. Every time the Knight of Swords added a page to his plans, the Knight of Wands added a spotlight to his. Neither one would withdraw, and neither one would give an inch.

By October, the permit file on Temperance's desk was three inches thick. Revisions were stuffed in on top of revisions, and appeals were stapled to amendments. Nothing could move forward because every new idea was jammed into the file backwards, tangled up with the one before it. Both knights still showed up every morning to defend their plans, but the shine was starting to wear off. The Knight of Wands' jacket was rumpled. The Knight of Swords had stopped bringing the tube and was showing up with wrinkled, scribbled, out-of-order papers. They both looked, frankly, exhausted.

Meanwhile, something else was happening on Main Street.

The Eight of Coins walks past that empty lot every morning on her way to her workshop, and one day she stopped, set down her toolbox, and picked up a rock. Then another. She stacked them neatly along the edge of the lot and went to work. The next morning, she did it again. On the third morning, she brought a watering can for the little green plant by the sidewalk. She didn't ask anybody, and she didn't file anything. She just came by every day, did a little, and left.

It was Temperance who noticed first, from her window in the permit office across the street at town hall.

That Friday, she invited both knights to her business on Main Street, the credit counselling company, not the town office. She made them each a cup of tea, sat them down, and slid the enormous permit file across the desk.

"I've read every page," she said. "And I have good news and bad news. The bad news is that the bylaw is very clear. No structure can be built on town land until the ground has been cleared and prepared." She smiled. "The good news is that somebody's already doing it."

She took them to a window in the waiting area, overlooking the empty lot. It was hardly recognizable. The rocks were gone, stacked into a low wall along the edge. There were neat rows of turned soil, and the little green plant had become a proper vine, climbing a stake the Eight of Coins had put in for it.

The knights stared.

"You know what I do in this office?" Temperance asked. "People come in here who have spent more than they had. Nobody meant to. They just kept pushing, one more purchase, one more bill, until they were worn out and stuck. And what I tell them is what I'm going to tell you. You don't fix it by pushing harder. You step back, you look at what you've got, and you put it back in balance a little at a time."

The Knight of Wands looked at his tea. The Knight of Swords looked at his. Then, for the first time since Monday back in the spring, they looked at each other.

"Your stage is a good idea," said the Knight of Swords, slowly. "It would need better footings."

"Your plans are good too," said the Knight of Wands. "They just need someone to actually start."

It didn't take long after that. By the end of the afternoon, they had one plan instead of two: a community garden, with the Eight of Coins in charge of the beds and the stone paths. In the rear of the large lot was a small public green space with seats and tables, and a small, sturdy stage for unplugged music on summer nights. The Knight of Swords drew it up in four pages instead of forty-two. The Knight of Wands promised to have the lights hung by next June, not Hallowe'en. They clinked their teacups together over the desk, and Temperance stamped the permit before either of them could change his mind.

That evening, she made a note in her ledger: Main Street lot. Balance restored. Account in good standing.

(Yes, it’s now out of season, but bear with me as I move some posts over from Patreon….I can’t backdate them here on Substack)

The Four Great Family Barbecues

Summer has arrived in Tarot Town, which means the grills are out, the folding chairs have been dragged up from the basement, and every family in town is arguing about who makes the best potato salad.

The four oldest families of Tarot Town: the Wands, Cups, Swords, and Pentacles, each host a barbecue during the summer. On the surface, these gatherings appear to have much in common. There is grilled meat, an assortment of salads, a cooler full of drinks, and at least one person complaining about the mosquitoes.

Look a little closer, however, and you’ll see that each family approaches the sacred tradition of the family summer cookout in an entirely different way:

• The Wands turn it into a festival.

• The Cups make it a family reunion.

• The Swords organize it with military precision and then argue about everything.

• The Pentacles quietly feed half the county.

A gathering like this also gives us a chance to see how the numbered cards develop. In every family, the Ace shows a beginning with possibilities. The Two gives this energy a direction. The Threes of the suits make a plan. By the Four, the barbecue has become real, and then the Five arrives to make sure nothing goes exactly as intended.

After that, the family adapts, experiments, reorganizes, and eventually reaches the Ten: the moment when the entire experience has developed as far as it can, and everyone must decide what happens next.

So grab a paper plate and something cold to drink. We’re going people-watching again.

The Wands Family Barbecue

Loud, ambitious, competitive, and very much on fire

Nobody receives a formal invitation to the Wands barbecue.

You hear about it from someone who knows someone. Then a cousin adds you to a group chat called WANDS FAMILY BBQ—LET’S GOOOOOO, which immediately generates 147 notifications.

On the day of the event:

• The King of Wands is at the grill, naturally. He has purchased a smoker large enough to require its own parking space and has been explaining the science of brisket to anyone who foolishly makes eye contact.

• The Queen is directing traffic, greeting guests, finding extension cords, and somehow organizing at least five other activities simultaneously.

• The Knight has been sent into town for ice. He returns with fireworks, water balloons, two cases of energy drinks, and, of course, absolutely no ice.

• The Page is running around the yard livestreaming everything on TikTok.

Ace of Wands: The Big Idea

The barbecue begins when one member of the family says:

“We should have people over this weekend.”

It is an innocent suggestion. A small spark. Within minutes, the idea has grown into a barbecue, bonfire, neighbourhood block party, cornhole tournament, talent show, and fireworks display.

Nobody has checked whether any of this requires permits or town permission. The Ace does not concern itself with practical details. It simply creates the desire to begin. The possibility is alive now, and the Wands family is already running with it.

Two of Wands: How Big Are We Making This?

• Someone has to choose what kind of gathering this will be:

• Immediate family only?

• The entire extended family?

• The whole street?

• Why stop there? Let’s just put out an open invitation. The King of Wands knows a band.

The Two of Wands finds the family standing in the backyard, looking over the available space and imagining what could happen there. The original idea is being measured against its possibilities.

A decision is made, and they are going to go big.

Naturally.

Three of Wands: The Planning Committee

The Queen of Wands creates several committees, and although no one remembers volunteering for any of them, they find themselves being volun-told.

One cousin handles food. Another manages music. Someone is assigned to activities. The Page designs an online invitation featuring animated flames. They’ve used Canva to turn an image of the King’s smoker into a dumpster fire for the Facebook group banner. Everyone thinks it’s hilarious.

There is now a plan, although the plan changes every twenty minutes as new ideas arrive.

The Three allows the family to step back and see the larger picture. The spark of the Ace and the direction chosen at the Two are becoming something that could actually work.

They hope.

Four of Wands — The Party Begins

By four o’clock, the yard has been transformed.

There are picnic tables, coolers, lawn games, strings of coloured lights, and a homemade banner hanging between two trees. Music is playing. Food is cooking. Children are running through the sprinkler.

For one shining moment, everything is working.

The barbecue has moved out of the imagination and taken solid form. The family is gathered. The gate is open. Everyone is celebrating.

Even the Mayor stops by and admits that it looks impressive. He does, however, have questions about the electrical wiring and permits. The King lets him sample some of the bark off the brisket. All is well. They’ll meet at the diner on Monday morning for breakfast.

Five of Wands — The Cornhole Incident

It begins as a friendly tournament, and then someone disputes a score.

A cousin insists that his foot did not cross the line. Another accuses him of distracting the opposing team. The Knight of Wands introduces a complicated trick-shot rule that nobody agreed to.

Within minutes, six people are shouting over one another while the Page provides live commentary to their TikTok followers.

Nobody is genuinely angry. Not yet, but every Wands gathering contains a point at which enthusiasm becomes competition and competition becomes chaos.

Behind them, the grill flares up.

This does not improve matters.

Six of Wands — A Champion Is Crowned

Eventually, a winner emerges.

The family cheers as though someone has just returned from war. The champion is presented with a plastic trophy left over from when the King coached Little League ten years ago. It is carried around the yard on the shoulders of two cousins.

The disagreement is forgotten because the Wands family respects victory more than it resents conflict. The momentum of the event has been restored. The gathering finds its rhythm again.

The Sheriff arrives in response to a call about “smoke and shouting,” but after receiving a plate of ribs, he decides everything appears to be under control.

It is not.

Seven of Wands — Defending the Grill

By early evening, every adult male at the barbecue has developed an opinion about the smoker. The King of Wands has spent twelve hours tending the brisket. He will not be taking suggestions. Ever.

One person recommends lowering the temperature. Another thinks the meat should be wrapped. The Town Doctor claims this is not how his father did it. The Local Entrepreneur has watched several YouTube videos and would like everyone to know that he owns a meat thermometer.

The King plants himself in front of the smoker with his tongs crossed over his chest.

This is his fire.

He will defend it.

Eight of Wands — Everything Happens at Once

At sunset, the gathering reaches maximum velocity.

The food comes off the grill. The band starts playing. Someone begins the water-balloon fight. Children streak across the yard. A dog escapes with a sausage. The Fool arrives in his purple camper van with The Star and three people nobody recognizes.

Text messages fly through the family group chat even though everyone is standing within fifty feet of one another. For a while, Tarot Town seems to revolve completely around the Wands family yard.

There is no time to think.

Only enjoyment. Pure, unfettered enjoyment of the moment.

Nine of Wands — Still Standing

By ten o’clock, the host is exhausted.

His shirt is stained. One eyebrow may be slightly singed. He has broken up a few arguments, rescued the Page from the roof of the garage, and prevented the Knight from lighting a Roman candle in the driveway.

He stands beside the smoker with a drink in one hand and barbecue tongs in the other, watching the remaining guests carefully. He has survived the evening, but he is also fully prepared for at least one more thing to go wrong.

Someone asks when the fireworks are starting.

Aaaah… there it is, the fuckening. He saunters across the yard and gets the hose ready.

Ten of Wands — Who Is Cleaning This Up?

The final guests leave sometime after midnight.

The yard is covered with paper plates, empty cans, abandoned lawn games, wet towels, folding chairs, and several items that no one remembers bringing. The Queen brings out the lost-and-found box, which is already half full, and adds to it, smiling.

The original spark has reached its fullest expression. The Wands family wanted an unforgettable party, and they created one. Now they must carry the consequences. As the family surveys the wreckage, someone says:

“We should make this an annual thing.”

Everyone groans, but no one says no.

The Cups Family Barbecue

Tender, nostalgic, beautiful, and emotionally complicated

The Cups invitation arrives in the mail.

It is printed on heavy kraft paper with a homespun font and includes a family photograph from a barbecue held twenty years ago. Several people in the picture are no longer alive, three are no longer speaking, and one has since married the person standing behind the camera.

• The Queen of Cups hosts the gathering in a garden filled with flowers and strings of tiny fairy lights.

• The King tends the drinks and quietly checks on anyone who appears overwhelmed.

• The Knight has made a romantic summer playlist.

• The Page is catching fireflies in a jar and asking questions that make all of the adults uncomfortable.

Ace of Cups — An Invitation from the Heart

The barbecue begins because someone misses everyone.

The Queen of Cups has been looking through old photographs. She remembers long summer afternoons when the family gathered around picnic tables, and nobody seemed to be in a hurry to leave. When she knows the invitations have reached their destination, she sends a group message:

“We really should all get together.”

The Ace arrives as an emotional opening. It is the wish to reconnect, welcome, celebrate, and fill the family cup again. Before long, people are replying with heart emojis and promises to attend. Even the cousin who never replies to anything says maybe.

Two of Cups — We’ll Do It Together

Hosting the gathering is too much for one person, so the Queen asks another family member to help.

They sit at the kitchen table and decide what kind of barbecue they want to create. Not something enormous. Not something flashy, but something meaningful, something from the heart.

They agree on the date, divide the responsibilities, and promise not to let the rest of the family turn it into a circus.

The Two of Cups gives the original feeling a partner. The desire to reconnect is no longer private; it has been recognized and reciprocated. The gathering now belongs to both of them.

Three of Cups — Everyone Brings Something

Planning quickly becomes a group effort.

One aunt volunteers to bring pasta salad. A cousin offers dessert. Someone else promises to make lemonade. Three relatives begin a separate chat devoted entirely to recreating Grandmother Cups’s potato salad. The Cups family believes food should carry memories.

By the time the menu is complete, there are seven salads, four desserts, two punches, and no firm commitment from anyone to bring hamburger buns.

The Three brings everyone into the process. The celebration is taking shape through friendship, cooperation, and shared anticipation.

Four of Cups — The One Beneath the Tree

Oh my goodness, the gathering is lovely. The aunts have probably shopped Michaels empty. The tables are nestled in a space near a grove of young trees strung with fairy lights. The drinks are cold. Everyone has arrived dressed slightly better than necessary. Every table has a gingham tablecloth. The centrepieces are lacy mason jars with just a touch of glitter, holding rose-scented tea light candles. The napkins have messages printed on them in a handwritten font, from the classic “Live, Laugh, Love” to “Smile more, worry less” to “Eat, drink, and be cozy”. The teenagers are reading them as they stack them beside the plates, rolling their eyes and laughing.

Almost everyone is enjoying themselves.

One member of the family sits apart from the crowd, beneath the old maple tree, poking at a plate of food and staring toward the driveway. The person they hoped would attend has not come.

Other relatives offer drinks, conversation, and slices of pie, but none of it is what they wanted. Sometimes abundance surrounds us while our attention remains fixed on the presence of absence.

At a Cups barbecue, someone always feels this more deeply than everyone else.

Five of Cups — The Missing Recipe

The potato salad does not taste right.

Everyone agrees on this, although they do try to be tactful. No one wants to hurt anyone’s feelings.

Someone added too much mustard. Someone else insists Grandmother used pickle juice. An aunt is certain there should be chopped eggs. Another remembers that Grandmother hated eggs.

The debate begins playfully but soon touches something tender: it is not really about the salad.

It is about the people who are missing, the traditions that cannot be perfectly recreated, and the painful realization that memory changes each time it is revisited.

For a few minutes, the mood sinks. Then someone notices that three other bowls of salad remain untouched.

Six of Cups — The Old Photographs Come Out

After dinner, the children ask what their parents were like when they were young. This is all the encouragement the older relatives need.

Boxes of photographs appear from out of nowhere. Seriously, where did they just come from? Stories are told. Teenagers learn far more than they wanted to know about their parents’ haircuts, clothing, and romantic histories.

The Town Librarian stops by, and while she visits and enjoys a slice of apple pie, supplies the full story behind a family photograph taken at the lake in 1986.

The Cups gathering settles into a familiar rhythm. The past is not restored exactly as it was, but it is welcomed into the present. Old affection passes between generations, softened by time.

Seven of Cups — Too Many Possibilities

By dusk, the drink table has become rather ambitious.

There are fruit punches, sparkling lemonades, iced teas, sangrias, mocktails, and something blue made by the Knight of Cups that he calls Moonlight on the Water. No one knows what is in it, including the Knight.

The desserts are equally excessive. Guests wander between pies, cakes, trifles, cookies, and frozen treats, unable to decide what they want.

Conversations also drift into possibility.

Someone discusses moving home. Another talks about renewing vows. A cousin has new career ideas and shares them with the table. Two relatives begin planning a family vacation that will probably never happen.

For a while, every dream seems available.

Commitment can wait until morning.

Eight of Cups — Leaving Before Dessert

One person quietly gathers their things.

They have attended these gatherings for years, hoping that an old relationship would become different. Tonight, they finally understand that it will not.

There is no scene in their departure.

They hug the host, decline another drink, and walk down the garden path while the others continue talking beneath the lights.

The Cups family notices emotional departures, even when nobody speaks of them.

The gathering continues, but something has shifted. One family pattern has been closed out.

Nine of Cups — This Is What She Hoped For

Later, the Queen of Cups sits back and looks around the garden. People are laughing. The children are sleepy, curled up in lawn chairs or stretched out on a picnic blanket someone carefully laid out for them. Someone has started singing along with the playlist. The person beneath the tree has long since joined the others.

The evening is not perfect. The recipe was wrong. Someone left early. A few old feelings surfaced. Still, the gathering has become what she hoped it would be: warm, abundant, affectionate, and alive.

She lifts her glass to the crowd, breathes deeply while she smiles, and allows herself to enjoy it.

Ten of Cups — Beneath the String Lights

Before anyone leaves, someone insists on taking a family photograph.

People complain while arranging themselves, but they gather anyway. Children sit in front. Older relatives take the good chairs. Couples stand together, arms around shoulders and waists, beaming and happy as they soak up the energy. Someone calls the absent cousin on video and holds up the phone so they can be included.

For one moment, the family appears whole.

Not flawless. Not free of grief, conflict, or change, but whole and genuine.

The Cups have created a small universe this evening, a safe space for everyone’s shared story. The old memories remain, but new ones have joined them.

Next year, when the invitation arrives, this is the photograph that will be on it.

The Swords Family Barbecue

Efficient, intelligent, opinionated, and not arguing

The Swords invitation arrives by email.

It contains the date, start time, end time, parking instructions, weather contingency plan, dietary questionnaire, and a link to a shared spreadsheet.

Guests are asked to indicate whether they are bringing a side dish, dessert, beverage, or “other.” Anyone selecting “other” must provide further details.

The King of Swords created the schedule. The Queen edited it for clarity. The Knight has already replied-all twice. The Page is fact-checking the invitation.

Ace of Swords — A Better Way to Do This

The barbecue begins with an observation:

“Last year’s gathering was badly organized.”

The speaker does not intend to insult anyone. They are simply stating a fact. A new plan is proposed. This year, the family will eliminate confusion, duplication, food waste, parking problems, and unnecessary delays.

The Ace of Swords cuts directly to the issue. It introduces a clear idea and the possibility of a more rational approach.

Several family members agree, while several others immediately feel criticized.

Two of Swords — The Sauce Stalemate

Before planning can proceed, the family must choose the barbecue sauce.

Half prefer the traditional vinegar-based recipe. The others want the sweeter sauce introduced by an in-law several years ago. Neither side is willing to concede.

A blind taste test is proposed, then rejected because one faction questions the methodology. The Queen of Swords suggests serving both sauces.

No one likes this solution because it avoids determining who is correct. The family reaches an impasse, and for several days, no decision is made.

Three of Swords — The Reply-All Incident

Eventually, someone sends a private message about the sauce dispute. Unfortunately, it is not private. The message goes to the entire family.

Feelings are hurt. Screenshots circulate. One aunt announces that she will not attend if her cooking is considered “an impediment to progress.”

The King of Swords intervenes, reminding everyone that the purpose of the gathering is family unity. The Page replies with a dictionary definition of unity.

This does not help.

Still, the conflict clarifies several things that needed to be said. The planning resumes with fewer illusions and a more accurate understanding of who is angry with whom.

Four of Swords — A Temporary Ceasefire

A rule is established: No further discussion of barbecue sauce until the day of the event.

The group chat goes quiet. Everyone retreats to consider their position, nurse their grievances, and prepare supporting evidence.

For a brief period, peace descends over the Swords family.

It is not a resolution. This is only an intermission.

Five of Swords — Someone Has to Win

The barbecue begins on schedule.

Both sauces are placed on the table, but one relative has printed anonymous scorecards so guests can vote.

What follows is no longer a tasting.

It is a campaign.

Family members lobby undecided guests. Accusations of ballot tampering circulate. Someone moves the sauce bottles to make one more accessible than the other. When the votes are counted, the traditional sauce wins by two.

The victor celebrates.

Everyone else makes a private note never to participate in this nonsense again.

Six of Swords — Moving to Safer Ground

After the sauce vote, the Queen of Swords redirects the conversation.

She asks about travel plans. Someone discusses a new book. Another relative begins telling a story about an unusual bird seen near the river. The family slowly moves away from the conflict.

A few people take their plates to the far end of the yard, where the conversation is calmer. Two cousins leave early and drive home together, analyzing everything that happened.

The barbecue continues.

The waters are not entirely smooth, but at least the family is no longer sinking the boat.

Seven of Swords — The Store-Bought Pie

One guest has claimed for years to make an award-winning blueberry pie.

The Page of Swords becomes suspicious.

The crust is too uniform. The foil plate bears traces of a commercial label. The guest was also seen entering the yard without carrying anything and returning to the car fifteen minutes later.

An investigation begins.

Photographs are enlarged. Receipts are examined. Someone quietly remembers seeing the same pie at the supermarket. By dessert, the truth is undeniable.

The pie is store-bought.

The family does not confront the culprit immediately. They feign ignorance because they would like to see how long the lie continues. They are enjoying this immensely.

Eight of Swords — Trapped by the Rules

The carefully designed system begins to work against everyone.

The person assigned to the grill refuses to cook the vegetarian food because it is not listed in his section of the schedule. Guests cannot move the lawn chairs because the seating chart accounts for shade patterns.

A child is told that the water balloons are scheduled for 4:30. It is currently 4:12.

People begin asking whether they are allowed to eat dessert. The Queen consults the timeline.

What was meant to create clarity has become a cage made of instructions.

Eventually, someone moves a chair without permission. The Knight sneaks the water balloons to the children, and they begin playing on the Slip N Slide ahead of schedule. Nothing terrible happens.

Nine of Swords — The Host Replays Everything

That night, the hosts are still awake reviewing the barbecue:

• Should the sauce vote have been eliminated?

• Did the vegetarian burgers remain at a safe temperature?

• Was the comment about the parking arrangement sarcastic?

• Why did Aunt Margaret leave without saying goodbye?

At 2:00 a.m., the King remembers that no one collected the dietary questionnaires.

At 2:17, he slips away to his home office and begins drafting a follow-up email.

At 2:25, the Queen texts him: “Do not send that, come to bed”

Ten of Swords — The End of the Group Chat

The next morning, the Knight of Swords posts a twelve-paragraph assessment of the barbecue.

The Page corrects several factual errors. Someone brings up the pie. The sauce dispute resumes.

Then, without warning, Grandmother Swords leaves the group chat.

Everyone stops typing.

A family institution has fallen.

The gathering has reached its logical conclusion. Every disagreement has been analyzed, sharpened, and carried as far as it can go. The family must now decide whether to continue communicating this way or create something new.

A second group chat appears later that afternoon.

It is called SWORDS FAMILY: NO POLITICS, NO SAUCE.

Grandmother joins.

The Pentacles Family Barbecue

Abundant, traditional, well-supplied, and prepared for weather

The Pentacles barbecue has been held on the family property for as long as anyone can remember.

The trees are mature. The picnic tables were built by hand. The grill has been repaired so many times that only one original part remains.

The King of Pentacles supervises the smoker from a comfortable chair. The Queen has been cooking for three days. The Knight is hauling coolers, tables, and propane tanks.

The Page is in the garden picking tomatoes and being reminded not to eat all the strawberries.

Ace of Pentacles — What We Already Have

The idea begins with the land.

The garden is producing more vegetables than the family can use. The freezer is full. The weather forecast looks good. There is enough room beneath the old maple trees for everyone.

The Queen of Pentacles looks at this abundance and says:

“We should feed people.”

The Ace appears as a practical opportunity. The resources are present. Something tangible can be created from them.

The family does not need to imagine the barbecue.

They already have everything required to begin.

Two of Pentacles — Making the Numbers Work

Feeding the entire family requires calculation.

How many people are coming? How much meat will they need? Can the old refrigerator hold everything? Who will pick up ice? Should they buy another folding table or borrow one from the church hall?

The Pentacles family knows that abundance must be managed.

The Knight makes three trips into town. The Queen shifts trays between refrigerators. The King tries “tweaking” the budget. Everything is juggled until the gathering becomes possible.

Three of Pentacles — Everyone Has a Job

The family operates like a well-trained crew.

One person tends the meat. Another makes bread. Someone washes vegetables. The teenagers set up tables while the younger children carry napkins and cutlery.

Nobody attempts to do everything alone.

Skill is respected here. The cousin who understands smokers handles the smoker. The aunt known for pies makes the pies. The relative who cannot cook is assigned to parking.

The Three of Pentacles brings different forms of competence together. By working collectively, the family creates something none of them could produce alone.

Four of Pentacles — Don’t Use the Good Chairs

The yard is ready.

The coolers are stocked. The tables are covered. The food is protected beneath carefully clipped covers.

The King has also placed several chairs aside and announced that they are reserved. For whom? That part is unclear.

He has locked the shed, hidden the expensive grilling tools, and counted the beverages twice. The Pentacles family values security. They take care of what they own because they worked hard to acquire it.

Sometimes, however, protecting the barbecue begins to look suspiciously like preventing anyone from enjoying it.

The Queen quietly puts the good chairs back so that they can be used.

Five of Pentacles — The Family at the Gate

A recently divorced cousin arrives with two children.

They are late, uncomfortable, and unsure whether they are still welcome. They’ve been out of the loop since the divorce, feeling wounded. They have not brought a dish because money is tight.

For a moment, they stand at the edge of the gathering while everyone else appears busy.

Then the Queen of Pentacles sees them. Within minutes, the children have plates. Someone finds them chairs. A relative slips leftovers into a cooler for them to take home later.

The Five reveals where material security is missing and where someone has been left outside the circle. The family’s abundance means little unless the door is opened.

Six of Pentacles — Take Some Home

The meal is served generously.

The older relatives are helped first. Children receive manageable portions. Someone quietly prepares a plate for the Old Man on the Hill, who refused to attend but will complain if nobody remembers him.

Food circulates in every direction.

Guests bring dishes, receive meals, exchange recipes, and leave with containers of leftovers. The family garden has produced enough to share, and sharing ensures that none of it is wasted.

The balance is not perfectly equal.

It does not need to be.

Today, those who have more give more.

Seven of Pentacles — Waiting on the Brisket

Everything is ready except the brisket.

The King opens the smoker, examines it, and closes the lid.

“How much longer?” someone asks.

“As long as it takes.”

The family has already invested hours of labour. Now they must wait for the result.

People wander through the garden, inspect the fruit trees, and discuss what worked this season. The tomatoes did well. The beans struggled. The new apple tree may produce next year.

The Pentacles understand that worthwhile things develop according to their own timetable.

You cannot rush a brisket. You can, however, eat another devilled egg while you wait.

Eight of Pentacles — The Work Continues

While everyone else relaxes, several family members remain busy.

Corn must be shucked. Plates need replenishing. The grill requires attention. Containers must be labelled. Someone is teaching the Page how to slice tomatoes properly.

The work is repetitive, but it is done with care. This is how the family maintains its traditions: not through grand declarations, but through hundreds of small tasks performed correctly.

The Page watches closely.

Next year, they will know how to do it.

Nine of Pentacles — The Garden Tour

After dinner, the Queen walks through the garden with a glass of iced tea, taking the Old School Marm and Casserole Queen with her.

Together, they admire the herbs, flowers, fruit trees, and neat rows of vegetables. She points out the trellis she built, the berries she planted, and the corner where she plans to add lavender.

She is proud of what she has cultivated. Not because it impresses anyone, although it does.

She is proud because it is hers: the result of knowledge, patience, labour, and the ability to enjoy her own company. For a quiet moment, she sits beneath the grape arbor and surveys everything she has created.

Ten of Pentacles — The Family Table

As evening settles over the property, several generations gather around the long table.

The older relatives tell familiar stories. The children play beneath the trees. Someone asks who will host the barbecue when the King and Queen no longer want to manage it.

The Knight glances toward the Page.

Traditions do not continue automatically. Property must be maintained. Recipes must be taught. Skills, stories, and responsibilities must be handed from one generation to another.

The Pentacles barbecue is larger than one meal. It is part of a family tradition, an inheritance that involves taking care of everyone around them and sharing in their abundance.

Before everyone leaves, the Queen distributes vegetables from the garden and reminds people to return the containers.

They won’t.

She already knows this.

Four Families, Four Ways of Moving Through the Cards

By the end of summer, each family has created the gathering that reflects its deepest nature.

• The Wands transformed one spark into a glorious, exhausting spectacle.

• The Cups turned a longing for connection into a new family memory.

• The Swords attempted to create order through clarity and discovered that even the best system cannot save people from themselves.

• The Pentacles used the resources already in their hands to nourish the present and prepare for the future.

In each family, the numbers followed the same developmental rhythm:

The Ace opened the door.

The Two chose a direction.

The Three developed the plan.

The Four gave it solid form.

The Five tested what had been created.

The Six established a workable rhythm.

The Seven expanded the possibilities.

The Eight sorted and organized them.

The Nine brought the suit into mature expression.

The Ten revealed what had been built and asked what would happen next.

That is the secret of the Minor Arcana. The numbers provide the pattern, but the suit determines how the story is lived.

And in Tarot Town, every family tells that story differently.

If you’ve ever lived in a small town, then you know that they are full of characters. The people everyone knows. The ones who quietly keep the town running and the ones who make life interesting. Let’s do some people watching through the lens of Tarot. Who said small towns are boring?

Le Mat (The Fool) — The New Arrival

Nobody knows where this person came from. He showed up one morning with his little dog and announced he was “just passing through.” Six months later, he’s still here, living in a purple camper van, good-natured and sunny, a little eccentric and strange, working odd jobs and somehow becoming friends with everyone.

Le Bateleur (The Magician) — The Market Stall Vendor

This fellow runs a mysterious little table at the weekend market, selling handmade things, strange books, and objects no one quite understands. He has no visible means of income, doesn’t seem to sell a lot, and yet he’s doing well. Everyone agrees he’s extremely smart and talented, but no one is entirely sure what his job is. Rumours abound that he’s a tech dropout who did well during the dotcom bubble.

La Papesse (The High Priestess) — The Town Librarian

She lives right beside the library. Quite possibly, she’s smuggled a sleeping bag into the restricted section. She knows everything about everyone, including things that happened long before most residents were born. She’s a living repository of all the stories for at least three counties. If you need the truth about the town’s history, she’s the one you ask.

L’Impératrice (The Empress) — The Casserole Queen

She runs the community garden, helps to organize festivals, and somehow feeds half the town. She is at every church supper, apron on, peeling the foil back on the many casseroles she brought. Her backyard produces impossible amounts of vegetables and fruit, and she has a never-ending supply of chow and homemade jam. Her living room and stairwell are plastered with photos of every relative and every event in this town. Everything about her home is cozy, and you hate to leave.

L’Empereur (The Emperor) — The Mayor

He’s practical, organized, and deeply invested in how the town functions. He has strong opinions about zoning laws, sidewalks, and the proper placement of benches; don’t bother trying to argue loopholes with him. In the local diner every morning, he sits in “his booth” and starts his paperwork. People drift over to say hello and grab his ear before the day is in full swing.

Le Pape (The Hierophant) — The Town Doctor

This is the person people go to when they need advice and stitches. He has delivered just about every person in Tarot Town since he arrived to take over a practice in 1978. He’s involved with the Elks, Little League, Sunday School, and well — everything! Like La Papesse, he is a font of knowledge concerning this town. He manages to draw a crowd and hold court wherever he goes. If you’re new in town, you’ll be seeing him. He’ll fix you up while he kindly explains how things really work around here.

L’Amoureux (The Lovers) — That Couple

This is the town’s most talked-about relationship. Or entanglement. You be the judge. They’re either deeply devoted to one another and so over the top cute it’s nauseating, or she’s throwing plates out the door while he jumps over the porch rails and gun-boots it into town as fast as his pick-up can carry him. Everyone secretly speculates and loves the drama.

Le Chariot (The Chariot) — The Busy Local Entrepreneur

He owns a garage, general store, and a used car lot and somehow still trains for marathons. He’s good friends with Le Pape and Le Bateleur. They’re always planning something in the community. This is the person who helps keep the town moving forward. If you need something done, you’ll be talking to Le Chariot sooner or later because he either knows a guy or he is the guy!

La Justice (Justice) — The Old School Marm

Unflappable, plain-spoken, and impossible to manipulate, no one knows exactly how old she is. She retired decades ago, but every few years she resurfaces in the classroom to cover a maternity leave, and thus she is able to frighten a new batch of kids. A good three generations of residents are scared to death of her. The children dare each other to run past her house. Fueled by a red pen and spite, she might just be immortal.

L’Hermite (The Hermit) — The Old Man on the Hill

He lives in the ramshackle old farmhouse outside of town. Like La Papesse and Le Pape, he has stories. He’s a curmudgeon, though, and if you show up unannounced, you’re just as likely to be staring down the business end of a .22 as you are to get a handshake. It all depends on how the wind is blowing. For someone who only ventures into town when he has to, he sure seems to know everything about everyone.

La Roue de Fortune (Wheel of Fortune) — The Town Event Organizer

Everything changes whenever she’s involved. She blew into town ten years ago with a flat tire and never left. She’s put her big city knowledge to use and has carved out a special place in Tarot Town. She’s spearheaded local music festivals, carnivals, and a historical reenactment. She’s brought change to Tarot Town in a good way, and everyone agrees that even though she’s not from there (in fact, no one really knows exactly where she’s from!), she is a true-blue Tarot Townie.

La Force (Strength) — The Animal Rescue Volunteer

She’s the local vet and helps to run the animal shelter. Somehow, she manages to calm the most difficult animals. When she’s not rescuing pitbulls, she’s up at one of the farms taking care of the livestock. Her veterinary clinic is “supervised” by a one-eyed, three-legged cat she saved shortly after arriving in Tarot Town. The animals and the people all love her.

Le Pendu (The Hanged Man) — The Artist

He’s often seen sitting by the river, sketching or painting. One time, the Old Man caught him hanging upside down from a tree branch on his property, trying to take a photograph of fish in the creek. You know what happened next! Folks think he’s a little strange, and they’re not wrong—but then he creates something beautiful that makes everyone see the town differently.

L’Arcane Sans Nom (Death) — The Developer

This guy buys up the old buildings in the area and transforms them into something new. This doesn’t always sit well with the folks in town. Not everyone likes change. People used to get upset when they saw him roll in with his trucks and equipment. For the most part, though, everyone understands: when he shows up, something old is about to make way for something better.

Tempérance (Temperance) — The Town Counsellor

When folks get to arguing, this is the person who calmly resolves the conflict. Like the Mayor, Temperance knows all the loopholes and workarounds. When she’s not keeping hours in the town office, she has a credit counselling business on Main St. Her ability to manage the worst snafus is untouched.

Le Diable (The Devil) — The Owner of the Late-Night Bar

He runs the town’s most questionable establishment. Everyone swears they’ve only ever been there “just that one time,” yet he is still open and as busy as ever. There’s a tiny old bathroom at the end of the back hallway that’s been “out of order” for 20 years. Everyone knows that the door to the illegal gambling room is through the “bathroom.” Many have tried to shut him down, but he’s got more dirt on the folks of Tarot Town than we have time to discuss. He and the Hermit give each other the side-eye whenever they cross paths in the general store.

La Maison Dieu (The Tower) — The Sheriff

Everyone gets quiet for a second when he walks into the diner. It’s as if he can sense disturbances in The Force and see right through everyone’s soul. This is his town, and if something upsets the balance, he’s putting things right, and he wants you to know it. No stranger to drama, he knows that his presence sets people on edge, and not only is he OK with that, but he’ll also toy with you. In fact, edgy is just how he likes it.

L’Étoile (The Star) — The Town Healer

She came from California twenty years ago. She bought an old house, fixed it up, and started up a reflexology and Reiki business in the old parlour on the main floor. She introduced everyone to aromatherapy and crystals. She sells herbal tea and incense in the market on Saturdays. The whole town still remembers that time she brought the Tofurkey and hummus to the church supper. Folks are still trying to figure her out, but she’s harmless, smells like patchouli, and gives a good foot rub.

La Lune (The Moon) — The Town Witch

She’s often seen gathering dirt and leaving coins in the cemetery late at night or out in her yard when there’s a full moon. Anyone who gives her trouble suddenly finds themselves with a car that won’t start or a mountain of unpaid bills showing up at once. She has a way of getting what she wants when she walks into a room. Those who know go quietly to her house for readings and spells. The Devil has been trying to get with her for years, but she just gives his jar a shake, and he simmers right down.

Le Soleil (The Sun) — The Hot Youth Pastor

Children adore him. All of the women, old and young, married and single, curl their hair around their fingers when he talks to them. He lights up the room with happiness and more than a little va-va-voom. He showed up for a summer internship at the local church and tripled the attendance at Youth Bible Camp. He sweet-talks the church ladies into filling the collection plate. The minister and his wife are trying to figure out how they can get him there for good once he graduates from school.

Le Jugement (Judgement) — The Town Awakener & Activist

This person has seen things online. Too many things. Unhinged and loud, they need to wake everyone up. The world is a horrible, terrible place. All the world leaders have formed a secret one-world government to carry out mass surveillance, and they’re going to chip everyone like dogs. Human traffickers exist behind every bush. Do you know what the factory up the river is dumping? They frequently start their Facebook posts with “I’m not suicidal, and I don’t do drugs”, and they run through town like Paul Revere. The folks at Tarot Town are used to it, though, after all these years.

Le Monde (The World) — The One Who Brings It All Together

She runs the annual tri-county harvest festival that brings everyone together for miles around and helps to keep the gene pool fresh. She is friends with just about everyone and has a soft spot for The Fool and The Hanged Man. Occasionally sparring with The Emperor over how things are run in Tarot Town, this is the person who breathes change into everything. She is often seen in the company of The Community Queen and The Local Entrepreneur, hatching new plans that keep everyone guessing. There was that time she dated The Sheriff, but people are polite, and they don’t bring it up.

The Four Great Families of Tarot Town

If you stay in Tarot Town long enough, you’ll notice something interesting: certain last names appear everywhere. That’s because one way or another most of the town belongs to four old families who have lived here for generations. Each family has its own personality, strengths, and reputation.

The Wands Family

(The Movers and Shakers)

If something exciting is happening in Tarot Town, chances are a member of the Wands family is behind it.

They are energetic, bold, and constantly starting new projects.

Some people say they have too many ideas and not enough patience—but no one denies that they bring life to the town.

You’ll find Wands family members running things like:

• The local theatre troupe

• The summer festival committee

• The new restaurant that opened last month

• The town’s entrepreneurial ventures

Their family motto might as well be:

“Why not try it?”

They thrive on passion, inspiration, and the thrill of creation.

The Cups Family

(The Heart of the Town)

If you need kindness, comfort, or emotional wisdom, the Cups family is who you turn to.

They’re known for their warmth, creativity, and deep sensitivity.

Many of them are artists, counsellors, musicians, or healers.

In Tarot Town, the Cups family members often run:

• The café where everyone gathers

• The art studio by the river

• The music school

• The town’s counselling and support groups

They’re the people who remember birthdays, hold space during difficult times, and bring the emotional richness that makes a town feel like home.

The Swords Family

(The Thinkers and Truth-Tellers)

The Swords family has a reputation for being sharp—sometimes literally.

They value truth, logic, and clear thinking above all else.

You’ll find them working in fields where intellect and communication matter:

• Law

• Journalism

• Teaching

• Debate and public discussion

They’re the people who ask difficult questions at town meetings and write the editorials in the local paper. Sometimes they stir up conflict, but more often, they keep the town honest.

The Pentacles Family

(The Builders of Tarot Town)

The Pentacles family built the town.

Quite literally.

They are practical, reliable, and deeply connected to the material world. Many of them work with land, business, finance, and craftsmanship. If you look around Tarot Town, you’ll find Pentacles family members running:

• The farms and orchards

• The local quarry

• The town bank

• The hardware store

They believe in steady work, long-term planning, and building something that lasts. Without them, the town simply wouldn’t function