I learned the word synchronicity when I started studying the concept of creativity. I’ve probably given it some added meaning over the years of being acquainted with it. To me, a synchronicity is a simultaneous, coincidental, serendipitous happening engineered by God. It’s always a thrill to experience one. Continue reading “Synchronicities in Life”
Tag: Family Life
Chairs for Children, Chairs for Adults
When I look at chairs put out for the trash I always want to rescue them. I did rescue one at a junk sale once, but it betrayed me. It was a little rocker that had a broken back support. I didn’t notice that in the warehouse where I bought it. As far as I was concerned, its life was over. Maybe someone else wanted to rescue it when they saw it on our curb. Maybe they did. I imagine a carpenter could have revived it, but then I think carpenters can do almost anything. Anyhow I know One who can.
Clear Spring is Live on Amazon
This is breaking news! DiVoran’s final book in the Florida Springs trilogy, Clear Spring is now live on Amazon! Our webmaster Onisha was given an advanced copy of Clear Spring and she said it is the best book of the series.
Read the blurb:
Mel Nicolaides, one of five children, has lived a happy, sheltered life at Living Spring in Florida. Her goal now, is to become as independent as possible. While her family heads for a vacation in Europe, Mel elects to stay at a remote North Florida spring to work. Her job is to illustrate a book about Seminole Indian medical and culinary herbs for an author whose Seminole name is Walking Woman. The revelation of a skeleton in Mel’s family closet, during her time there, however, forces her to find sources of strength she never knew existed.
Eavesdropping Again
One of my birthday presents was an eavesdropping event on my way home from a walk. I had left the woods and heard voices amplified by the emptiness of a garage. One was a man’s voice and the other a woman’s. Their voices were like the day: sunny and warm, mellow and perfect. They spoke in Spanish, so I couldn’t understand the words, yet somehow I felt I was at a performance of the highest order. The woman’s language rang with rhythm, the man’s with resonance. Then he talked, then he sang,,, quietly, but like a mariachi. Then woman spoke. Then it was his turn: he whistled a song like “Amapola.” I wanted to hear them again. I walked to the end of the block, crossed the street, and went past the house on their side. I never saw the couple, and I hoped they wouldn’t see me. When a neighbor got in her car and drove past, I was standing and musing over a contrail in the blue sky. I did take time to wave at her. After I listened for a while, I walked slowly past the garage opening, trying to look as simple as possible so they wouldn’t suspect me of snooping.
I passed the young woman in the yard next door. She was talking on the phone. She must have been speaking to a teen-ager because I heard her say, “…honors band…” Her voice, which was a counter point to the garage man and woman, reminded me of a poem by T. S. Eliot about a group of people talking in a train station. If I remember rightly, it was during wartime. The voices spoke one after the other as into a rapidly moving microphone.
I turned and walked back once more. That was when I heard a gust of the whistling song as if the man couldn’t contain his joy another minute. I couldn’t justify another pas-by, so I hurried home to write this post for you.
What does all that have to do with writing? You tell me. I love to hear what you have to say.