One night, I explained to Garry about house-elves. He isn’t a big reader of fantasy, so some of this stuff was news to him. I told him if we left milk and cookies out, the little folk would come to our house.
Overnight, while we sleep, they would clean, scrub, repair, and cook. Fix the roof. Clear the snow. When we got up the next morning, the coffee would be ready along with delicious, fresh-baked goodies.
He looked at me. I think he wasn’t sure if he had heard me. “Is this like, real? Has this ever happened?”
“No,” I said. “Only in folk tales and fantasy novels. And Harry Potter. But wouldn’t it be nice if it were true? We could leave out milk, cookies, and an old pair of socks. Just in case.”
“Yes. They use them as clothing.”
One eyebrow went up. “You know some furry family members who would surely eat everything. And Bonnie would steal the socks. They might leave us a gift, but I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be freshly baked croissants … or a clean house.”
I’m sure I had him, if only for a few minutes. I think I could have turned him into a believer. Underneath our rationality, we want to believe in magic. Raw reality has such rough edges these days. It’s exhausting and frightening.
Give me myth and please pass the magic. It’s so much better than reality, isn’t it?