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A butterfly can gently flap its wings and cause a typhoon in southern Asia. My special power works much the same. I can manipulate sound waves and make things happen -- or not happen -- causing catastrophe in my wake.

While many may interpret my power as old-fashioned "jinxing," I believe I will someday learn to harness this ability for the greater good. Unfortunately, I have not yet mastered control.

I once sat on the sidelines of a baseball game that was going rather well for our team. The pitcher was experiencing a hot streak. Then I opened my mouth, unleashing just the right balance of sound and air movement to make a difference. I stated, "He's going to pitch a no-hitter!"

As the words tumbled forth, fellow fans shuddered in disbelief. One threw up his hands and questioned, "Why did you SAY that?" I didn't have time to respond before we heard the crack of a bat meeting the ball in that perfect spot. Our team was not at bat.

I winced and said nothing else for the remaining two innings. Even though our team won, I walked away devastated knowing that my premature statement cost our pitcher a perfect game.

You'd think I'd learn.

But alas, as we pulled out boxes of holiday lights, I opened my mouth and unleashed my power once more. I stated that we had plenty with which to decorate, therefore this year we were not going to purchase anything new. Every year, we fall into the trap of finding a sale on rope lights or a closeout on giant, illuminated snow globes. Then we spend as much on new holiday decor as we do on presents.

As we added to our collection, our power bill crept up and our yard melted. Last year, our lilies began budding two days before Christmas.

Since we also own enough icicles to make it appear as if we live in the Arctic, I figured we could use the money we normally spend on new decorations for a new car or the latest video game console. But I didn't just think we should make do with what we own -- I said it aloud. Then Hubby and I dug into the decorations and began decking the halls, house and front lawn.

Everything Hubby set up looked great and worked perfectly. I wanted our swag lighting hung across the carport. With two strands of three curved swoops hanging from each corner, our yellow and red "noel" sign would fit perfectly in the middle.

Once the support nails were in place and everything was attached to our electrical substation rigged on the side of the house, only two droops of the six lit up. The "noel" that I'd illuminated proudly for a decade was also dark. Hubby helped me test bulbs, but after testing and replacing until our fingers were numb, it was time to retire the swags and "noel" for good.

I went to the deck next. We had enough strands of outdoor bulbs to light up the railing, so I tested the strands -- no need to put in all that work and have another swag situation on our hands -- and began wrapping lights across, up, down and over.

The deck lit up beautifully -- twice. On the third night, however, the deck was dark. Not one strand -- not even one bulb -- fired up. Hubby again tried to remedy the situation, but the strands, which we inherited from my parents a few years ago, were past their prime.

Inside the house, we lit our tree with white lights for the very first time. But that was because I was in charge of decorating the tree and the contents of the box marked "tree lights" no longer had the ability to transfer electricity. I was forced to use the white strands that used to hang from our outdoor PVC-pipe candy canes.

I did salvage one strand of multicolor lights for inside the house. I was so excited when they lit upon initial testing that I spent two hours looping them through the metal frame of our baker's rack. When I had it secured around the corners with twist ties and woven across each shelf, I plugged it in. Half of the strand lit up. The other half briefly flickered and went out.

The power that slipped forth from my lips affected our boxes and bags of holiday lights, causing nearly half to expire. Our home is lit, but this year it's not quite bright enough to land small aircraft. Someday I will learn. Someday I will control my power.

Please note that I'm writing this "declaration." I dare not say it aloud.

Micki Bare is a columnist for the Arkansas News Bureau and the Courier-Tribune in Asheboro, N.C., and author of the book, "Relative Expressions." She lives in Asheboro with her husband and three children. Her e-mail address is mickibare@inspiredscribe.com.