He practised magic, like his grandfather before him, originated from a family of seers, Spökenkieker. His family lived in a village at the bleak coast of the sea, their ancestors fought the elements, dependent on the tides, living an archaic life. My father learned some old magic rites from his grandfather and used them if necessary without telling anybody. For him, it was banal, the normal course of life to protect or banish with magic.
My mother was a rationalist. She was horrified when she found out this trait in him.
I am a queer mixture of both. I'm disapproved of all esoteric flimflam and smiled at people who told me to scatter salt in my new flat to clean it from bad energies.
But there are more things in heaven and earth, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
And sometimes I can see or feel some sign and know how to read it, unknowingly but instinctively. I can divine its sense, close at hand, but difficult to catch, like a pale shadow you can only see in the corner of the eye. And I know how to use it, like a sleepwalker. At these moments I am the daughter of the magician.