Good intentions
In the last 24 hours I’ve put out three intentions, prayers if you will, in my morning pages. All three were answered within the span of a few hours.
I love how that works.
My prepared mind
When we were assigned to write a limerick in sixth grade, mine included a reference to France. OK, I’ll even share it:
There was an old lady from France
Who needed to know how to dance
She twisted and turned
But never learned
Until she put ants in her pants.
I took four years of high school French and then two semesters in college.
I have an Eiffel Tower ornament for my Christmas tree that I keep in my living room all year round.
I have an Eiffel Tower postcard by my desk. A friend brought it back from Paris last year at my request.
Last summer a friend and I talked about going to Paris. He gave me three books — The Cafes of Paris, France’s Best-Loved Driving Tours and Let’s Go Map Guide Paris.
I have a coffee table book called The Paris Apartment filled with dreamy pictures and fun tidbits about how to make a room evoke Paris. There are five pictures in a sort of montage hanging above my bed — three of them are French. Another French picture hangs next to my dresser.
Yikes, shall I go on? I’m obsessed, yes?
Tonight a friend and I were having margaritas in a Mexican restaurant. The people next to us were speaking French, not exactly the norm in Hoboken.
I just recently wrote a post called “French Fancy” listing all sorts of synchronicity on this topic.
The point of all this? Opportunity may be meeting the prepared mind.
Stay tuned …
Still
It’s been a pondering kind of weekend. I’m not sure why. But thoughts have been racing through my head like crazy. All over the place.
Tomorrow I will be still. My spirit deserves it.
WWED?
A little too much wine last night. So rare that I skip a blogging day.
Today I head out of town, Erica Kane book in tow. (See “Special Delivery” post from a few days ago.) It brings me to a place where Pine Valley is real, the fictional people I watched back in the 80s are genuine fodder for reflection, and some of the wisdom she imparts sounds eerily like my New Thought minister. In given situations, I may just start asking myself, WWED — What Would Erica Do? Ha Ha.
The giver of the gift is still a mystery. So I like to think of it as the Universe sending me a message that is still to be determined.
Special delivery
So I get a postcard in my mailbox last Friday telling me there’s a package waiting for me at the post office. I couldn’t get there right away and then I forgot about it until this morning. So I strolled over there on my way to the gym and the clerk handed me a manila envelope with a book in it.
I opened it with great curiosity only to find no card or note. There was a return address (Elizabeth, N.J.) on the envelope, but no name. I don’t know anyone in that city, so I called my brother and left him a message. Then I called my sister and she couldn’t shed any light on it.
But here’s the funny part. The book itself. An excerpt:
Oscar Wilde, the aptly named and justly famous playwright, said, “To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance.” That is genius. My personal love affair with myself has been the most satisfying relationship I’ve ever had, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. I think I’m the most glorious human being ever born.
Love is the most important thing there is. It’s my reason for living, the motivation for everything I do.
All love begins with self-love, psychiatrists say, and on that score, at least, I believe them. It makes sense! How can you love someone else if you don’t love yourself? Much less Have It ALL?
The book? Are you ready? It’s called Having It All by Erica Kane. That’s right, Erica Kane. A fictional daytime soap character. While there are photos of Susan Lucci on the cover and all through the book, there is not a mention of her name anywhere. It’s all from Erica Kane’s first-person point of view. She talks about the characters on All My Children — her mother, ex-husbands, etc. — as if they’re real. What a hoot.
Who in the world sent me this book? It seems like someone who really knows me. He or she knew I’d glom onto the title, that I’d find the whole idea funny but meaningful.
On my way home from work, I was walking on Sixth Ave. toward the subway when I found a $20 bill on the sidewalk. Another mystery. Another gift.
Life is just dishing those out lately.
Coaching cheer
I’m looking at a glass vase with fresh flowers. I don’t know much about flowers so I’m not sure what kind they are, but they’re a gorgeous turquoise and purple combination. In fact, they’re the flowers I eye up in the store and never splurge on.
They were given to me by a coaching client tonight. We had our last session in a 12-week series and she wanted to thank me. She’d worked on four goals and on a scale of 1-10 ended up with these numbers — 8.5, 10, 9, 8.5. How phenomenal is that? Do I love this job?
The coach in me is ready for some revving up again. This week I’m finishing with three clients, all of whom are dynamic, accomplished and well on their way to sweeping changes in their lives.
I feel like I’m in a place to attract that caliber of client again. And so it shall be.
Words about work
I picked up a postcard from a Manhattan restaurant the other day. It’s one in a series with quotes about the meaning and value of work. Here’s what it says:
It keeps me in touch,
this job of mine,
to dreams and plans,
and the future.
I couldn’t have said it better myself.
Young writer
I keep thinking about a conversation I had with my sister’s friend on Saturday. She was telling me how her son, who just made his Holy Communion, loves to write. He so loves it that one recent morning when his mother told him it was raining outside and that Field Day at school would probably be cancelled, he said, “Yessssss!” She questioned him and he said the teacher had told them they’d be working on their writing all afternoon if Field Day was cancelled.
Two of the best books that address writing — The Artist’s Way and If You Want To Write — tell us as adults to try to recapture that blissfully creative place we experienced in childhood. We created without thinking about marketability and we weren’t weighed down with self-consciousness.
I love the idea of a little boy writing and writing and treasuring the time he gets to do it. It warms my heart.
Simple truth
I manifested the perfect day today.
Sometimes it’s important for me to remember that I have that power.
New stuff
Met my sister and a dear friend for a full day of shopping in Manhattan. It was fabulous. The bustle. The ooh-ing and ah-ing over all the brilliant colors and embellished styles we saw. They were weighed down with shopping bags by the time they boarded a train headed back to the suburbs.
I made a few very selective purchases based on need (?!). In essence, I succeeded in stretching the clothes I already have by adding in a few tops that mix and match. I already did a little fashion show in front of my mirror and I’m quite impressed with myself. Color galore. No black. Can go from saucy to sassy with the change of a shoe. Yum.
On what may very well be an urelated note, I am feeling like tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life. Something about renewal. A need for a jolt.
OK then.
