Conversations in the supermarket

Before actually arriving that night, I had another interesting experience. I'll need to preface it a bit with some more background about me. Being a Heritage Maker, I have become more aware of people around me, in an effort to meet new people, and develop new friendships for the purpose of expanding my network and, in turn, my business. I carry brochures, business card, and even a published project or two in my purse so that, should the opportunity arise, I am prepared.
On the way to pick up Laura, I stopped at the grocery store (Ok, so that is actually about 2 miles OUT of the way, but is that really relevant?) to pick up some cookies for the meeting. (They were more for my intense craving, but it sounds better if I say I was getting them for the meeting.) So I'm standing in the junk aisle and there are 2 other people there as well. One woman was frantically looking for a particular candy bar, and a man seemed concerned about her plight and was casually helping her. I could see the distress, and I chuckled and said something like "Oh no, we can't have tears in the candy aisle!" They both laughed, and she explained to me what she was looking for. We made friendly small talk for a minute, and then she went a little deeper and told me that her and her family were settling back into their home after beign away for 5 months. Both the man and I were intrigued and I asked what had kept her away so long. She said her son had had a serious accident and they were at the hospital all that time with him, and now they were moving back in and settlign back into normal life. The man seemed satisfied with this, took his things, and moved on with his shopping. I was not satisfied, and I pried a bit deeper. She seemed all to willing to share, and gave me a little more information about how they were remodeling the house for a wheel chair, and I don't remember what else. Then she got a call on her cell phone, excused herself with her eyes, and proceeced to talk to someone who, from what I could hear, I presumed to be her son. I stood in the aisle, bewildered by what she had told me, and contemplating what to do next. I was somewhat frozen, but trying not to look that way. I pretended to scan the aisle as if I were still looking for something, but my mind was fixated on the woman. She walked back to her cart and started to head out the aisle, and I felt my heart skip a beat. If I didn't do something about it this woman was going to walk out of my life forever. What should I do? Why did it matter? What am I so ruffled about? I didn't know, but I couldn't deny the drive to talk to her some more, so I followed her. She was still on the phone, but I was in a hurry so I couldn't wait too much longer. I walked over to her and interrupted her phone call by asking if I could give her my business card. She told her son (or whoever was on the phone) that she'd call him back, and so kindly gave me her attention. I told her that I felt like she had a story to tell. Her face showed great surprise as she d said, "Well actually, yes, I do have a story." And she began to tell me what had happened to her son, and how much pain and trial they had been through over the past few months. He had been riding a bicycle and he somehow rode over a pipe bomb, and it blew his body in half. Somehow after dying 3 times, he has managed to live through this experience, and is expected to continue to live. I was intrigued, and I was also drawn to this woman. I felt like there was a connection, and somehow we were meant to run into one another. By this time I was horribly late to pick up Laura, but so grateful that I was able to talk to her, so I explained my plight, asked for her phone number, promised to call her, and excused myself to go and pay for my stash. She told me that it was so nice just to talk to someone, after "living" in the hospital for so many months. She seemed as happy about the connection as I was. I am still not sure the significance of all of this, but I know I was supposed to meet her. I will call her in a few days, and pursue the friendship that was mysteriously put in front of me. God works in mysterious ways. It sounds very trite to say this now, but it's amazing how the more I think about it, my life really is a breeze.

Writer's Club, Day 1

This week I attended a meeting of my neighborhood's "Writer's Club." I've been wanting to go for some time now, but I kept forgetting. My friend who attends regularly, has really been nudging me to come, so she made sure I remembered this time. Well I had 2 great experiences that night, one being the writer's club, and I'll tell you about the other one towards the end.
The writer's club is a group of women, most of whom are much nearer to 50 than my friend and I, who enjoy writing and sharing their work for constructive critique and feedback. I was a bit nervous about my younger, less wisdomatic self contributing in any significant way, but truthfully, I greatly enjoyed it. This weeks assignment was to write a personal essay. Nobody actually produced a proper one, according to the club president, but there were many inspiring literary pieces produced.
One of the gals who is a gardener wrote a piece about a floral arrangement that had more beauty and description than I'd read anywhere in a long time. It made me realize how shallow and boring my writing has become. I want my writing to have life, beauty, and real meaning as hers did, but at the same time, you have to believe it came from me. So how do I do that? I hope to find out as I continue to write.
Part of the events of the group was to do a 10 minute writing exercise. They just pick a word randomly, and everyone writes whatever comes to mind. I was a bit intimidated as I wrote only a half a page, put down my pen, and felt like the work was completed. As I sat there for what seemed like an hour and looked around the room at each person busily scribbling away on their various notebooks and pads, I started to feel unsure of what I had written. I looked at my paper and then around the room again, and I felt some sort of anxiety, like I needed to write more - but about what? My thought process had been complete, there was no more. Why couldn't I be satisfied with what I wrote? Not so patiently, I continued to wait.
The word? Yesterday. We all kind of chuckled, and someone started singing, "Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away..." And then we began to write.
Here is what I came up with:

There were so many things on my list of "to-do's" for yesterday that I haven't even gotten to today. If I don't turn the page in my planner, does that mean it's still yesterday for me? Can I buy time so easily? Is it really possible that if I just try not to think about it, I could fool myself into believing it's still yesterday? Whenever something is required of me, the deadline is always yesterday. So try though I might, I can never catch up anyway. As quickly as I run, my feet never carry me to done. I am always a work in progress, pushing towards the goal, only to arrive in time to find out the mark has been moved further up the line. But I will keep going as long as I can, I'm not a quitter. I would just like to get yesterday done sometime before tomorrow.

My first thought was what I mentioned earlier - shallow. Then as I re-read a few times it seemed somewhat poetic. Today, 2 days later, I rather like it. It's growing on me. I might even feel a little proud. My Life is a Breeze!