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Like is attracted to like

by lulujane on January 7, 2011

I was excited to meet my friend Nathalie for lunch today.  She had mentioned the Beanery Cafe in St. Clair Beach to me before, and today I got to experience it.

Nathalie is a dear friend and usually I just see her when I drop off articles for sewing projects/alteration or to pick them up at her house. Today I wanted to treat her to lunch for all the little extras she does for me.

Nathalie is much younger than I; she feels like a daughter to me.  She  is beautiful inside and out and is artistic and creative.  She is a professional, a stickler for presentation. I knew she would take care with how she looked today, and since I am most comfortable dressing casually, it made me assess what I would wear with a greater degree of care .

True to form she arrived at the cafe wearing a wide and welcoming smile that said she was happy to see me, sassy boots, black patterned stockings, a short soft purple dress with layered ruffles over her slender shape and a black coat that was the bow on the wrapping.  I was happy that I chose to wear my comfortable, warm, black leather pants with a grey wool jacket and a light gray knitted cape with a checkered red, white and black scarf; not as fashion chic as Nathalie, but o.k. for me.

My scarf

Behind me, halfway through our meal the person sitting there was getting ready to leave, unnoticed until she commented “I almost took your scarf”.  I didn’t know who she was talking to, but turned toward the sound of her voice and observed her standing with my scarf in her right hand and the other in her left.  They were identical.  Until today I had not seen anyone else wearing this scarf. She had grabbed mine from behind her and when she was putting on her coat noticed another scarf in her sleeve.

I found the situation interesting and funny.  Funny because I stood in my front hallway an hour before, trying to decide if I should wear the favored grey, black and white scarf I usually wear with my cape, or to change it up. I decided to change it up, and by doing so treated myself to a fun happening.

And interesting because of the synchronicity – something presented in a way that would be sure to capture my attention, or someone else’s?  As we joined our laughter I could see this caught us all in the element of surprise and wonder, giving my lunch guest goose bumps from the friendly encounter.

Am wondering now if I should have introduced myself to the mother of my twin scarf.

Post script:  Sometimes things speak to me in metaphor and it was only on waking up laughing the following morning when I ‘got it’.  As I navigate the sea of my life and contemplate relationships that fit for me, this event has reminded me that like is attracted to like, and that which I am seeking is also seeking me. Hallelujah!

My scarf


I’m not a brat

by lulujane on January 2, 2009

A few years ago my brother Greg was commenting on childhood things.  I remember the word ‘brat’ coming up and don’t have specific memory of  the brat reference; thinking that perhaps he, or someone else, perceived him as a brat when he was a kid.

A short while later I saw a reference in a local magazine promoting the book by a local author, former schoolteacher Arnie McCallum entitled “I’m not a brat” I made a mental note of this, thinking I might buy it for Greg as a Christmas stocking stuffer.  I cut the piece from the magazine and taped it on the ledge around my desk, beside my computer where it was in my line of vision every day, even if I didn’t look directly at it, for many months.

bratOne day I went to lunch with a friend at a Tim Horton coffee shop a short distance from where I worked.  A man sat at a table near us.  A brown manilla envelope sat in front of him.  A short while later he opened the envelope, removed papers from it, pushed back his chair, got up and walked around the room handing them out .  As I took the paper from his hand I noticed his name on the paper.  Arnie McCallum.  I also noticed a reference to “I’m not a brat”.

I approached him at his table questioning whether he had any of the books with him.  He said he had some in the trunk of his car and went out to get one for me.  We exchanged money for book. I walked back to my table, book in hand, a happy person.

I wanted to buy it.  I ceased looking at and seeing the clipping beside my desk. I took no action toward seeking the book out.  I think this was one of those cases – if Mohammed won’t go to the mountain, the mountain would come to him, and so this book came to me.

The best part of this – the magic of it all.

Update to original post – February 19, 2009


On Monday this week I went to Belle River with my sister and her husband for a visit with our brother Greg and his wife Sue.  Greg has a welding business called Steel Wonders where he creates steel art for garden and home decor, so it is always interesting to visit and see if any new creations are on the bench, or complete and ready to go out for rustproof painting.  About an hour into our visit I was drawn to the lettering on his blue sweatshirt.  In our home town of Windsor, Ontario we have a Value Village resale store.  He often goes there to get ‘new’ clothes for welding, knowing that all of them end up wearing grease and sporting lots of holes.  The sweatshirt he was wearing, which I display here with a photograph was emblazoned with the words “’ .  I burst into laughter and reminded him of the book I bought for him a few years back.  When he bought the shirt he had no awareness of his connection with this phrase.

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Treasure Hunt

by lulujane on January 1, 2009

If only we could trust the unseen, unheard guidance that we have available in our lives ..

My friend’s daughter and her boyfriend were looking for a used washer and dryer for their new digs. Mom was looking through the Pennysaver ads and spotted an estate sale out in the country so they all piled into her car and headed out. Not really knowing where they were going, they meandered along countryside concession roads, finally arriving at the large farmhouse with about a six car garage sitting in the wide open spaces.

nancy-and-greg420Always up for an adventure they enthusiastically climbed out of the car and rushed into the garage. To quote my friend, “there was a ton of stuff set out in sections, and in the middle of the garage were boxes stacked with frames”. She and her daughter were browsing through things when they heard the boyfriend say several times…”You guys…hey you guys… look at this”. They looked up. In his hands was an old ratty frame with a picture of my friend and her husband on their wedding day, her in the long flowing white gown and him in his tux and long hair style. She shook her head doing triple takes just to take this in and to realize it was them. They felt in shock. They couldn’t believe it. They just started laughing. The timing of this was perfect/coincidental as they were soon to celebrate their 25th anniversary the following month.

There was such a mess of things in this large garage space – if someone was deliberately looking for something they likely would never have been able to find it. Yet here they found a twenty-five year old wedding photo among a pile of frames.  Their wedding photo. They got the giggles. The women running the sale, daughters of the woman who had passed away heard the laughter and raised voices of the excited conversation and asked “what’s so funny”. When they heard the information about their find, the sellers offered the picture as a gift. “Just take it” they said.

While rummaging through the boxes of about forty frames, trying to find some good ones, there were no other pictures attached to the frames. Except for their framed photo, everything else was an empty frame. My friend says “how weird is that?”

Obviously they were curious about how their wedding photo got to this country garage. The women running the sale shared the story. The photographers worked as couple…and split up…he took the business and she took all the fixtures. She moved out to the county and had recently passed away. That’s why there was an estate sale.

This kind of story tickles me – and oddly enough, not so much because of the surprise of it, but because I know these things happen.  And it kind of makes me curious if other people have similar synchronistic yard sale/flea market stories.

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From Point A to Point B

by lulujane on December 30, 2008


Sometimes the distance from Point A to Point B can be a straight line.  Other times the journey leaves a meandering trail before connecting with the Point B destination.  Such is the case in point.

While visiting my friend Betty yesterday, as she went off to have her shower she invited me to scour through some old photos her daughter had given her the previous day.  I know some of her family members and I knew her husband who passed away a few years ago so I spent some enjoyable time looking at familiar faces at varying stages of aging.

When she emerged fresh from the shower and ready to go to lunch she handed me a 1956 Crusader year book.  The Crusader is the team logo for Windsor’s Assumption High School.  She offered it to me and suggested I keep it.  Silently scratching my head with thought, having absolutely no idea what I might do with it, I accepted it anyway.

I asked Betty’s how she came by this yearbook and she relayed it to me.  A few years ago, as her daughter was closing her store for the day, a gentleman came in with the book and said that she (Nancy) should have it as it would mean something.   The yearbook was from 1956. Nancy was born in 61. The only thing she could think of was that maybe her dad had placed an ad in it. Nancy just had it on a shelf in her home and recently thought her mother (Betty) would like it or know something about it. Nancy has no idea why this total stranger walked into her store and gave it to her saying it would mean something to her.

Listening to the story of this book’s journey into Betty’s hands I lifted the first few pages and quickly recognized a face.  This fellow had been a lifeguard at Ford City Bathing Beach when I was in my early teens.  He was a twin.  I had a crush on his younger brother.  Four of my five sons went to Assumption High School and I pondered the possible connection of them or some of their teachers to this year book.

dsc_0002x1Flipping a few more pages I started to do a bit of math.  My former husband, the father of my sons, was born in 1939 and he went to Assumption High School.  My heart started to skip as I pondered the possibility that this book might be meant for him.  And wouldn’t you just know it – thanks to each grade’s student individual photos being listed alphabetically, within just a few seconds my unspoken question was answered.  The book is for him.

When I shared this revelation with Betty she was on the verge of getting emotional on me – joy at finding the book a home, and knowing that we all had a mysterious and synchronistic hand in it.

It was a winding, crooked path from Point A to Point B; the man who gave the book to my friend’s daughter Nancy, Nancy who gave it to Betty, Betty who gave it to me… all not knowing where it would end up or why they had it, and me who will give it to Gene, where it is meant to be.

As Meryl Streep’s right-hand man (in the movie ‘Out of Africa’) said when they removed a rock dam from a downhill moving stream, “now the river can go back to Mombasa”.

And so this book will be delivered to Gene. He is Point B.