I often stand at the foot of my bed in prayerful meditation from where I can view the heart bush. I fondly referred to it as the heart bush because, from the vantage point of my north-facing, second-story bedroom window, the bush formed two distinct sides of a heart's shape with a bit of an opening in the middle. After some years, a bit of a bit of fringe began to appear out of the center of the bush. Still, it made me smile to think of it as a heart. "Probably just some weeds," I thought. They liked to wave in the wind at me.

A couple of years ago, while on a walk, my husband and I examined the bush and discovered that some saplings were attempting to grow up amid the tangled and entwined branches of the bush. We brought out some clippers and removed what we could to help protect the heart bush, but one near the center could not be removed. I now knew that "fringe" wasn't weeds at all.

With three days' notice, we packed our suitcases, hopped into the car, and headed off from northern Pennsylvania to Tampa/St. Pete. Being the kind of person who normally takes three weeks to gather everything for an extensive trip, packing in a hurried fit felt a bit unnerving. The clock and calendar did not give way, so I got through it.

My life since hubby's unexpected retirement (due to the sale of his employer’s company) has been a series of such events—most unplanned and few for fun. (As I’ve mentioned before, we decided to deaccession our extensive, 44-year collection of 20th-century antiques and fine arts.) This has been a massive, heavy-lifting, time-consuming job.

Did I mention, I've also taken on several clients, am helping my son manage his spinal surgery recovery, am the treasurer of our cottage organization, and offered to help with the rewriting of their bylaws? Oh, and I maintain the event website for a local writer's conference. (Does this sound busy? Yes, I am!)

Sometime late into the mid-1960s early 70s, while watching after-dinner television, I saw my first plate spinner. Unless you're of a certain age, you won't know that we didn't always have 300 channels and shows like America's Got Talent. We were lucky to have three television stations (four if you had public access), and typically watched shows like The Ed Sullivan Show (or later, The Gong Show) for talented musicians, unusual talents, and headliners of the day. 

Erich Brenn (yes, I looked it up, my memory has its flaws) had his audience holding their breath while he teased us with bowls that might crash and plates that he continued to twist and spin. Brenn's act (and those of other individual humorist spinners) was mere foolishness compared to some of the Chinese acrobatic plate spinners who somehow managed to keep handfuls of pole-balanced plates spinning during elaborate performances.

I remember it like yesterday. . . I signed up for Dale Carnegie Training—which is mostly about being able to communicate better with others as well as being a better human. I had the good fortune of having one of the old-time trainers, Bill Dyke. Bill had been with the company long-term and had known Dale Carnegie. Though up in years, Bill remained active and jovial, leading us through twelve difficult challenges as the weeks progressed. 

One challenge we were given was to finish something we'd put off for a long time or that had yet to find its finish line. I remember one fellow had done some remodeling and never put the window trim around the windows. For over fifteen years they had been trimless, molding collecting dust in a corner. He would finish that during our course. For me, I had my own back pocket project that I'd squirreled away for more than fifteen years. Bill asked me, couldn't I just give it a little bit more, even 10%? No, I told him, I didn't know where I'd find that 10%, I didn't know where else I could spare a minute. I felt totally maxed out. (It would take another year before I could finish it—or so I thought.)

I unexpectedly found myself at the end of an era this week. Although I hadn't planned on it, the events over the week quickly made it inevitable... but more on that in a moment.

What is an era? It is when you have devoted your time, money, and effort to something in your life. It's likely something that has a piece of your heart (but not always). It may last years or only months, but it is a part of you in some way and has helped shape you into who you have become.

Early in the 90s, I joined a writer's group. I had made the "mistake" of commenting to a friend who had just become its president that I loved organizing things. We would joke about it years later as I had no idea what it would lead to, but I think she had an inkling. 

Starting out as a contest coordinator and a host for several writer's retreats, I would go on to become a board member, then later, as the annual conference coordinator. I raised my hand enough during my years there that I eventually won their highest award of Meritorious Service. Voted by the members, I received a clock to indicate the passage of time I'd given.

I've always maintained one should never take on two major projects at the same time. (I even proclaimed such in one of my books.) So, of course, I'm totally ignoring my own advice and have taken on two big things. As my good friend and author, Doc Nell Rodgers likes to say, "Sometimes I need to read my own damn book." 

Nonetheless, I also believe it's important to follow your intuition, and I didn't always do that.

Project one has been to select, tag, and pack some of our massive 20th Century collection of antiques.

About a year ago we learned that, due to the sale of the company, my husband was being forced into retirement. Not working after forty-four years has been a massive change, one he has taken to slowly. However, we had always planned that selling off our collection would be part of our retirement plan, the shift just came three years sooner than we thought. (I'd tried warning him that my intuition said differently, but like men with driving directions, he didn't listen.)