An old song sings out, "sign, sign, everywhere a sign."*

I’ve seen a plethora of books on signs lately, books showing how the universe sends us messages to connect us with those on the other side or signs to guide us forward toward our best-for-us human journey.

In my last missive, I wrote of Laura Lynn Jackson’s book, "Guided," which is one such book. (I still haven’t finished it.) Another of her books is called "Signs." Tara Swart wrote "The Signs" (another book I haven’t finished reading). There seem to be many more. It’s as if the universe is sending out the same message through multiple voices to make sure it's known. Your angels, guides, and universal love spirits want to send you comfort and to let you know your aches of the heart have been heard. I believe they want to show you the way to healing and to creating a better life. Just follow the signs!

Of late, I’ve felt like I’ve been showered with signs myself. I'd been feeling my way around a dark room when suddenly a door of light opened. This is the way! Yet, when I look through the doorway, all I can see is an illuminated cloud. I can't seem to see where I am going—and I think that first step may be a huge drop off! (I believe there is a scene in movie, "Men in Black II," like that.) Having a sign would be a great asset right now.

I’m not sure why so many of us—myself included—get caught up in perfectionism. Women, they say, are more susceptible to this trait, whether due to wanting to be loved and appreciated or by simply hoping it will mask their flaws. Even my husband gets caught up in it, feeling embarrassed if he accidentally spills coffee or something like that. I don’t really know the answer, but it’s okay, because. . .

There are not many things in my life that I regret. As a teen, I regretted not spending more time at my father’s bedside before he died and determined after I would not let myself fall into those regrets again. It spurred me to do difficult things, like check in on a sick friend, attend a funeral, or speak up to someone about how much I care or appreciate them. So when I look back, there isn’t that much I would do over, but we all have this or that we wish we would have done better.

As the Memorial Day weekend approached, I looked forward to some downtime, something hubby, Tim, emphasized we both needed.

We made plans to hide out at our little cottage where we serve as club treasurers and were expected to attend the annual spring meeting. The few hours out for the meeting would still leave plenty of time to work on some craft projects I'd sidelined. For one, I'd bought this cute little 3-D book/music room kit designed to sit on a shelf between my books. I'd been anxiously awaiting Tim's golf night to get it started, but due to weather and other circumstances, three weeks later, I still hadn't found the time. This holiday weekend I would—I hoped.

"Nothing is lost in the mind of God," is a phrase I first read in a Doreen Virtue book many years ago. (My copy is dated 1999, but it may have been later for me.) She told a story about losing a small change purse on a family outing. Her family were Christian Scientists, and they taught her, "Nothing is ever lost, God always knows where it is." As I remember it, home after a family outing, she realized she'd lost the purse. Finding it by her bedside the next morning, she forever accepted that belief. (Doreen tells the story much more eloquently. You can read it in The Lightworker's Way.)

I think the story stuck in the back of my mind, but I didn't think of it for some years until I lost my favorite watch. The watch was nothing special, just a little Timex, but I wore it almost daily. The weird thing was that I didn't know when or where I lost it, thus, I had no idea where to look for it. My husband, Tim, offered to buy me a new one, but I had other watches, so I said, no. But, because Doreen had shared, 'nothing is ever lost,' I told him, "it will turn up at some point."

At some point in the 1990s, my husband convinced me to enroll in the Dale Carnegie Training Course that he had taken some years before. "It will boost your confidence," he said, though I suspect he also knew the 12-week training would benefit me in other ways as well.

For those of you who don't know, this is a course where each week you learn a concept on which you must speak for 2-3 minutes in front of the class the following week. You also learn other skills like how to start a conversation, how to remember names, and other means in which to engage in friendly conversation. While usually business-minded individuals sign up for the training, the learned skills also benefit its trainees in daily and family life as well.

 Early in February, sick as a dog, confined to my bed, I became keenly aware of the overwhelming glut of stuff I owned, much of which I could see from where I lay. I made a promise to myself to lighten the load as soon as I was able. I didn't know it would take more than a month to be well enough to do so.

Gradually, I began by going through a drawer here or a cupboard there and really taking a hard look at what I might be holding on to. Did I really need a 1950s electric china teapot, which my husband pointed out, I had never used in some 30 years of owning it—I just thought it was pretty. . . pretty enough to keep out of sight in an unreachable upper cupboard. Yeah, time to release that to someone who would appreciate it, chips and all.