Forgiveness and Fairy Godmothers

Fairy Godmothers. I have a whole team of them -- four or five back in Connecticut where I grew up and a gang of 10 in Chicago, where I lived for 20 years before high-tailing it to the Left Coast in July. The FG's adopted me years ago and have a habit of turning up unexpectedly when I need them most, as if out of thin air (and sometimes even with glitter and gossamer wings.)

These women, the Fairy Godmothers, are quite a group. They're all a decade or two older than me, most of them are Chicago's particular brand of South Side Irish, a few of them are still mass-going Catholics, at least one of them is a Buddhist, about half of them are cancer survivors, most are mothers, and all are unapologetically free spirits. A cross between the cast of "Hair" and a White House cabinet, they are ribald and wacky, wise and caring, smart and sensitive, fierce and loyal, courageous and faithful. They listen, advise, feed me -- and kick my butt as needed.

The Fairy Godmothers are full of faith, in spite of what John Patrick Shanley (my favorite playwright) in the introduction to his Pulitzer- and Tony-award-winning play "Doubt: A parable" calls "the bitter necessities of an interesting life." Miscarriages, divorces, death, illness, addiction, depression, violence, bigotry, poverty, wealth, love, loss and doubt.

Fergie (aka Catherine "Kathy" Ferguson) is the chief Fairy Godmother
She is a marvel. A wondrous, whimsical broad with the world's most infectious laugh. She wears her heart on her sleeve and carries a cigarette instead of a wand, but her power and grace is no less magical.

This is her story. It changed me. I hope it changes you, too.