I want to be honest. The people behind the Carra hysteria were not human; they were dybbuks, dislocated Yiddish souls of the dead, coming for me just as my grandmother said they would. Some angels came to save me; they called themselves Yay Jon’s, an old Hebrew name for good warriors.

Sue Lamberti was nervous and worried when I stopped by the Cambridge Flower Shop to prowl for fresh flowers. I asked what was wrong, and she said she had read my blog and seen all the name-calling and was afraid she had triggered the ugliness over my misspelling of the Calla Lily more than once.

She said she was also Dyslexic—no wonder we are friends—and was worried she had mispronounced the name of the flower to me on Saturday and was responsible for my misspelling and all of the attacks. I said I didn’t need any help drawing trouble. I tried to explain the dybbuks, but she didn’t understand; she just nodded and wished me luck.

I told her she had not mispronounced the flower’s name; if she had, I hadn’t heard it. She said her Dyslexia has more to do with numbers and figures; she has a particular procedure for making up bills and invoices. It wasn’t you; I said it was Dybbuk or Dybbuks looking to eat me.

I’ve also solved the mystery of the angry and pompous people who poured out of nowhere this week to attack me for my typos and Dyslexia. I know who they are: Perhaps these people popping out of the woodwork in anger and rage are  dybbuks, in Yiddish mythology, a malicious possessing evil spirit believed to be the dislocated soul of a dead person. It feels right.

She was relieved, and I told her these outbursts occur all the time online, especially if you open up your lives to people who trust no one and nothing and seem to have little to do but write messages to strangers on social media and tell people what to do.

I was glad I went in to see her today. She is one of the nicest people I’ve met in a long time, and I hated to think of her fretting about that over the weekend.

Angry and cruel people are alien to her; she doesn’t understand them, and I can’t imagine her writing a nasty note to anyone. Welcome to the club, I said, but don’t worry. I’m good at making my fireworks and don’t need help.

She said she would never put up a blog, which made me sad, thinking of how many good and interesting people have become afraid of the broken and sick people on the Internet.

She sold me some beautiful new flowers, and I went to town on them. She sure knows what I want and what a gift it is. I took a few photos this afternoon before the snow showers hit. I’m off to make dinner and will volunteer at the Food Pantry in the morning.

I am very grateful to have found her; she has an excellent eye for the flower photos I want to take. She’s a valued friend.

I love this color, and my Macro lenses are performing wonderfully. I only care a little about the flowers’ names any more than I care about spelling. In the two years I’ve been taking flower photos, no gardener has ever sent me a nasty note about misspelling. They care about the flowers, not the yokel who takes pictures of them.

Zip on the throne