Sunday, 9 September 2012

Missing the boat to be in the Right Place at the Right Time

Finding myself in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Is there such a thing? Maybe there is, such as being on the wrong end of a parking ticket, or in a car accident.  Yes, of course, there are things which we experience when we would rather not.  But this is not what I want to talk about here.

Being in the wrong place at the wrong time can sometimes lead to an extraordinary experience.  A reward of synchronicity, the likes of which can only be engineered by Spirit. And of course, a feeling of being in exactly the right place at the right time.
If only we can keep in the zone. You know, the spiritual zone, the awareness of being alive, grateful for all the events that transpire. Even the ones which feel like they shouldn’t be happening.

Today I had arranged to go to a boot sale.  My friend born under the zodiac sign of Cancer the Crab wanted to de-clutter and raise some cash at the same time. What better way than to do a boot sale? I lent her my pasting table and offered my assistance.  Boot sales are always easier with more than one person, getting away from the table can be problematic if you are on your own. Toilet breaks or buying a cup of tea means finding someone else to mind the stall.

So, we arranged for her to leave her house at 7am, aiming to be with me by 7.30am, although at that time in the morning there probably would have been clear roads, so she should have been with me by 7.15am.  I went to bed early the night before, I set my alarm clock for 6am, I woke on time, got ready with plenty of time to spare only for my friend to delay the start time, after the start time had come and gone! 

I could have had an extra hour in bed.  Oh my gosh!  I am used to this, dealing with unexpected change of arrangements.  It has taken years of life experience to get to the point where I can ignore the negative reaction to being let down at the last minute.   I take it on board, as they say, I carry on, knowing that I am meant to be doing a boot sale today.  So, with further time taken to fill up with petrol we don’t make it to the boot sale in time for a pitch. No room at the Inn.  I am not surprised. We may have just had a pitch if we had got there when we had planned.  So, we are turned away at the gate. Heading off in search of Plan B. Another boot sale, that we have heard about from someone on facebook, held at my son’s old High School. 

We set up our pitch and have to swallow the fact that this little boot sale is like being at a Pub Quiz compared to the other boot sale being like University Challenge.  It just doesn’t compare, not for location or sheer volume of foot traffic and visitors to the site.

I am not overly bothered, the boot sale was for my friend to offload her old clutter, I have a few bits of Avon, some shoes and some DVDs/Computer Games.  We may not have sold loads of stuff, but we did sell something to pretty much everyone who stopped at our stall.

The price for us being in the wrong place at the wrong time was financial, the material detriment that meant lack of funds at the end of the morning.  The reward for going with the flow and not kicking up a fuss or throwing the towel in, was to experience a spiritual synchronicity that I am certain was meant to happen to bring upliftment and hope to a grieving mother.

The synchronicity that happened, showed up at the end of the ‘shift’.  The boot sale was nearing to a close, other stalls had packed up and given up the ghost.  There were so few people there that the organisers didn’t even bother to ask for the pitch fee.  Wow. It must have been bad. The usual pitch fee would have been £6.00 if they had remembered to advertise it. There was talk of a reduced fee of £4.00, in hushed tones as a rebellion rumbled quietly amongst the traders. 

So, there we were, around Noon, it has been six hours for me, looking at a pasting table full of stock that isn’t moving and with hardly any people walking past. The anti-customer factors have really stacked up against us. Firstly, it is one of the hottest days of the year, unseasonably hot. Hot enough for a last throes BBQ, which doubtless many people would be out and about doing.  Secondly, the boot sale hasn’t been advertised. Thirdly, it is being held on the same day as one of the most popular boot sales in the area. Fourthly, the location is not on any beaten track where people would find themselves strolling by accident. There is no swerve from the seafront, or people getting on or off trains. No. To come to this boot sale you have to be determined to get there or related to someone who attends the school.

The final customer shows up, she has a little chat about some cereal containers. She mentions that she is a host for foreign exchange students.  Not one to miss a beat when it comes to interesting conversation, I strike up a conversation with her about her role in the exchange programme.  The talk went from whether she has to speak a foreign language to be a host (no, she doesn’t), to me explaining about how I met a man from Switzerland last week who is staying in a residential home in Devon.  

Yes, she has been to Devon, she has a motorhome and travels all over the place. It gives her freedom to do what she wants. Although she won't be travelling anywhere much abroad next year because she is planning on doing a Diploma at Southend College.  

‘oh, Diploma?’ I enquire ‘which subject?’

‘counselling’ she says

Naturally, I tell her that I have done the first three years of counselling training and then I went on to do a degree with the Open University and I am graduating on Friday. 

The lady explains her reasons for wanting to do a Counselling Diploma, she wants to volunteer with CRUSE, bereavement counsellors.  They were really helpful when her son died.  She had a son, who died at the age of 30. 

‘what happened?’ I ask

‘heart failure’ she says, clearly in pain over the loss of her son.
I stand and listen as the stalls around us are packing up, the story of how her son died, what happened after he died, the lack of help she had from the British Consulate and the Doctor in the foreign country where he died.  The conversation continued, I am aware that I am listening with an educated ear. I know I am waiting for something but I don’t know what it is.

The lady mentions her grand-daughter who was offered an alternative date for her eleven plus exam, she was due to sit it less than two weeks after her Mum’s brother died. The family were all still in the grip of grief and the School offered her the chance to postpone and sit the exam in January.  But no, her granddaughter insisted on doing the test with all her friends. On the day of the eleven plus she wrote her name on the entrance paper and her date of birth, only she mistakenly wrote the date of birth of her Uncle!  Her recently deceased Uncle, because their birthdays were close together in date, but obviously different by about twenty years.

There it is. The mention of a date, without mentioning the date.

‘When was his birthday?’ I ask

‘6th July’ she says

I look at my Cancer born friend.  She has perked up her ears...

’I was born on 6th July’ she says

What are the chances?  For me, being a lover of synchronicity I really enjoy when numbers collide, I know that this interaction was meant to happen, from the time my friend was trying, unsuccessfully to pull herself round this morning, to the event which caused her to choose not to get petrol at an earlier stage during the week (of which I am sure there must have been many opportunities).  No, all these delays were meant to happen in order for us to meet this lady.

I started talking to the lady about my belief in synchronicity and what it means, how I would take that coincidence as a sign that her son is safely in the arms of spirit and how he could well be around her. 

Turns out the lady goes to the same church as me, but on a Tuesday and a Sunday evening. I go on a Wednesday afternoon and we have never met!

This is the second ‘Steve’ coincidence I have had this week.  Firstly there was the Steve who died in a plane crash, from Devon, and his daughter and her husband explaining to me how they felt seeing his name on a film credit ‘Steve Mark Cooper’ name after the other as each of the credits came up...was a sign from Spirit and now this Steve, bringing his mum to me and my pal so I could reaffirm her belief in spirit.

I thank my Guardian Angels for allowing us to be in the right place at the right time, even if it seemed like missing the boat and being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Lots of love and light to everyone who needs it.

Tamasin x

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