A Sign

“Wow, that was weird!”, Ken said to me as we watched the silent lady clad totally in white, walk away from us toward the horizon.  

Following her, with my eyes, I was transfixed on the shimmery treasure in her left hand - wisps of light reflecting off the translucent gems - and replied,  “No, it feels like a sign…

Moments earlier Ken and I had been playing Kadima (the beach paddle ball game) in front of the beach house we had rented for several summers.  The house had been a warm respite for family and friends; indeed ‘Rehoboth’ had lived up to its Biblical Meaning - “Room Enough For All to Gather”. 

Sadly, Dad never had the opportunity to come with us to Rehoboth.  I could picture him - in his pensive way - sitting on the porch all day studying people, wildlife and waves.  He had passed the year prior - and had been my teacher of all things Natural and Divine.

When I was a young girl, Dad had brought home a bundle of something he called his Money Plant.  The dripping tissue-esque pods shone like shiny coins - capturing my imagination in every possible way.  Funny how a brief moment in times gets pinned on you - and a wisp of air will take you back to your childhood.

Anyway, the Money Plant had, over-time, bubbled up in my Top Five favorites - and a link to my Dad in space, time and possibilities.  

Now, back to the lady in white and Kadima.  Just prior to her appearance, Ken’s paddle had made direct contact with the hard rubber ball and in swift order the ball zoomed over my head into the dune on the far side of the sidewalk behind me.  Rolling my eyes I turned on my heals to go dig through the overgrowth to find the bright pink ball.  As I did, I saw a petite woman, dressed in white gauzy linen in the thicket looking for the ball.  Her back was toward us but as I neared her she turned toward me, smiled, and opened her right hand with the little ball inside.  I reached for it - thanked her - she nodded back to me.  And brought up her left hand from her side.  In her grip was a large, dripping bouquet of Lunaria (the Money Plant).  She never spoke a word to us - and as I mentioned, she left Ken and myself feeling touched - as though we had just had some kind of moment.

Several months later I was home in the middle of the day and Ken called me and said, “You are not going to believe what’s for sale!”  Immediately reflecting on the brief encounter with the Lady in White I answered, “The beach house.”  And he said, “What should we do?”  I answered in a quick exhale, “If anyway possible, let’s buy it.”  

With all kinds of hoops and loops - and orchestration that has to be Divine -by the next summer, we became the new stewards of the beach house.

In over 20 years we have never seen our Lady in White again - but since then I started to look for and collect Money Plant bouquets.  Of course they remind me of my dad, but they also remind me of playfulness, possibilities, and gratefulness.  

When we were creating a new image for Cornersmiths, to celebrate our 10 year anniversary, I kept thinking about the wonder I feel when I see the iridescent leaves of the “Honesty Plant” - also known as Lunaria - also known as the Money Plant - and thought it would be an image that could capture the playful, possible, and grateful facets of Cornersmiths.  And a sign of things coming right over the horizon…