When is a peeling fence just a fence?

I begin this blog posting the same way I began my diary in 1962 B.T. (before therapy) with an apology: Dear Blog, sorry for not writing to you.

For reasons beyond my control or understanding I left my keys in my car overnight and found myself with a dead battery. Once the car was boosted I was instructed by the Lord High Executioner (aka husband M.) to take it for a spin. Feeling guilty and stupid all at once, I grabbed my Annette Gantz black cotton jacket and rainboots and high-tailed it to the highway. No luck. The best bet was to head to Livingston, NJ which is why I was coming up South Orange avenue and caught the light at the corner.

This used to be my neck of the woods many epochs ago when my second shift kicked in and I drove the boys to the extracurricular activities that were considered shoo-ins to the haute colleges we aspired to. Whether or not these nocturnal swims were the tie-breakers we'll never know but I remembered the homes that dotted the way and now, I was staring at the rather forlorn and decrepit white picket fence that adjoined the parking lot for the pediatrician's office on the corner. Wow, I said to myself, he's really fallen on hard times.

But where was the evidence?

I didn't know the doctor nor his practice but it reminded me of a New Yorker cartoon where the shop owner posts a sign in the window "Lost My Motivation." No matter what anyone tells me, a dirty white picket fence in front of a doctor's home office is symbolic of something.

I've said it before but it's worth repeating: We're all reading messages about one another throughout the day. If your hair needs a trim, your fingernails are dirty, your pants have a spot (or two or three), I will not assume things are going brilliantly for you. And if you step outside in the morning looking like a zillion with the latest silhouette, hair full of bounce and a smile that's genuine and welcoming, well, I'm going to take a leap of faith and imagine you're living an enviable life. You may call me shallow (others have) but I'm convinced that clothes serve as armor and protect us from negative and undermining influences.

No matter where I'm going or what I'm doing I take the time and the energy to create an image of purpose and flair. You see, I'm a great believer in serendipity and I never want to thwart the opportunity to meet someone fabulous. When I'm dressed for "ready" I'm far more willing to initiate that hello, have a little chat, share a confidence or a recommendation.

If you've "lost your motivation" find someone who can remind you of your gifts and your talents and how they can be better utilized and make them part of your team. A peeling fence ain't just a peeling fence but a metaphor for a demoralized vision of life and its possibilities. A little coat of paint would probably do wonders.