Terracotta, the sequel

The friend I had dinner with last night is also a meditator.

I started a year ago on the recommendation of my father.

“It’s life changing,” my Dad said.

“Yeah, yeah,” I responded.

He proceeded to send me a book on it. And then five more.

I gave, and found out soon thereafter that my Pop was right.

So last night my friend and I were talking about meditation, and the things it can do for your life, like reducing stress and enabling you to enjoy your job more. Finally we talked about how meditating daily can make even a jaded New Yorker look at the spiritual side of things.

Which brought us around to the subject at hand: instances of kismet and surprise that make a person take a step back, shake his or her head, and think, even if just for a moment, about whether there’s a deeper meaning to it all.

“So what’s it going to be today?” he asked.

A few hours ago I had received an email from an older relative, Social Security check qualifying older, urging me to “take a toke” when I have trouble falling asleep. It wasn’t unsolicited. I struggle with insomnia at times. Many teachers do. The more important a good night’s sleep is to one’s job the more stressful it can be to actually get it. This relative was honestly trying to help.

The email went on to say that if I didn’t have a dealer she could hook me up with one via another, post-60-year-old relative.

It was a chocolate sundae of an email. No doubt.

Of course my only response was that as a public employee and educator of young minds this was an unthinkable idea. However her advice on any and all health matters going forth was more than welcome.

So that, I told my dinner companion, is probably what I’m going to write about.

Then he bent over to pour some more wine and I saw the chair he was sitting in. It was a French bistro chair, identical to the one my mom had only yesterday sent me a .jpeg of as a decorating possibility for my new apartment.

I was having trouble visualizing the chair. Making a trip downtown to the store that supplies them was something I had added just that afternoon to my long list of things to do pre-move.

And there it was all of a sudden, the French bistro chair, right in front of me.

Miracles never cease.