I am in the interview process for a great opportunity in my field. Although the company is less than 20 miles from my home, I had never heard of the town’s name where the office is located until I saw it on the job posting.
My husband had a business meeting this morning and he and his colleagues met at their office to drive together to the meeting’s location. It wasn’t until he got in the car with his group that he realized they were headed to this newly-found (as far as the Sister Rains are concerned) map dot.
Also today, I was running local errands and as I pulled out of a shopping center parking lot I came right up on giant advertising letters on the driver’s side of a delivery truck. And the town of this delivery truck’s company? You got it.
They say that signs are everywhere but I have to wonder, are they only there because we want to see them so badly? I’ve heard the expression “that’s a bad sign” but I really don’t notice the bad signs, only the good ones, and usually when I am hoping for something big to happen.
If I had to choose, I’d rather see the signs for something good than for something bad. And right now, all signs are pointing to good. And that’s a good sign.
This is the name of a new committee that my friend and I are thinking of starting. Actually, it should be more than a committee. A club? Maybe a foundation? Or an organization?
All I know is that we are tired of ordering dishes at restaurants that are not advertised to be saturated with the enemy. Salads come to the table with onions encased in a cloaking device so that you don’t discover them until you bite into them. Sometimes they are non-cloaked pieces that look awfully similar to a piece of lettuce or cabbage and so you chew. Hash browns and home fries also are made with the offending ingredient in most restaurants.
If you are lucky enough to see a piece of onion and remove it before putting it in your mouth, the awful onion taste remains and ruins the entire meal, maybe even the next few days . I may even go into convulsions. No, I’m not allergic physically, just mentally.
I made my husband’s favorite meal this weekend, a Pennsylvania Dutch version of chicken pot pie. I put a whole onion in the pot with the chicken and the celery, which requires that I remove the skin from the onion before I put it in the pot. The onion is only to add flavor to the broth; it is removed before the meal is served so that no one is subjected to its presence. This morning, while washing my face with a warm washcloth, all I could smell was the onion on my hands. Three days later.
So Onion-Haters-In-An-Onion-Loving-World Unite! Together we can stop the tears!
This afternoon, around 2:00 p.m., I found myself having a cup of tea (OK, it was really coffee), sucking on a hard candy (OK, it was a Halls), under a blanket (OK, it was my Phillies Snuggie), reading AARP Magazine (OK, it really was AARP Magazine) and wearing my slippers (OK, it really was my slippers).
Yes, today I was a 30-years-from-now version of myself. And as long as I get to keep drinking coffee and reading, I’m good with it (OK, I really am good with it).