For two dozen years, Soroptimists, an international service organization for women, consumed my spare time. Most often it was a good thing, a boon to my life. Because I was in solo private practice, and did not earn my speech-language pathology degree in this state, I had few compadres with whom to interact. Women with power were new to the business world, and we needed each other to endure hurdles and traps.

Further, I worked with clients in states of constant chaos, calamity, and crisis, so emotional homeostasis was abetted by having an outlet apart. I needed lunch anyway, so twice monthly I went to dine among peers in Irvine. Evening committee meetings and events helped me to fill hours and be social while my husband worked elsewhere, often out-of-state three-four nights/week.

The Irvine club’s huge investment was activities for developmentally-disabled adults, a service which CA cities had not yet embraced. Several members’ children propelled the focus, aligned with my work. I had an active contract with a large organization with group homes. I was all in – and soon, I chaired the annual picnic with food, activities, and clowns making balloons. Four hours of fun in full sun – with no little-to-no budget. Members volunteered and, apparently, they expected $$$$ to volunteer, too.

Sometimes things align with just a simple mention, unaware that just the right person to fulfill the need stands before you. You (me) frame a need, pose it aloud, and Рwithout another word the person walks you to a closet full of plastic visors. Colors of joy and cheer: yellow, hot pink, and red.

But ‘Chamber of Commerce Chili Cook-off 1990’ adorned the several hundred free visors.

As an aside, you invite a few couples to dine in your home, new members of the service organization of which you are V.P, in charge of the well-attended picnic. And you show the visors, announcing the need plaintively, when someone asks what you are unto in life. No expectation, no request, just a simple statement…

And one of the husbands spoke up to state that he works for Avery Label, a company with which my husband does shrink-wrapping business. The pre-eminent label company, with a local factory. He donated custom labels for the visors that each attendee will receive as gift, a shade to ensure fun-in-the-sun.

But what about the food – attendance had grown. Husbands loved to volunteer barbecue, but their wife/members balked at the purchase price. Yikes!

For several years, members had counted on the support of Taco Bell, but the headquarters moved. Another well-connected member snagged Denny’s corporate support to the tune of $1000.00 to buy the burgers, dogs, beans, chips, and buns. Cold sodas, too.

Yikes, Denny’s muckety-mucks decided to abscond the Irvine Company’s pre-emptive rent hike, too. Panic set in among the membership as June 2 loomed. My husband plied his charm to Price Club, but the boss didn’t budge.

The miracle moments seemed to have been garnered. My husband refused to fund the operation. I was about to pass out… On May 31, in her final act as secretary to close the office and hand over the keys, Denny’s chairman’s executive assistant wrote the check and handed the highly-needed donation to me. For the event, Sunday Safari, on June 2. Whew!

Life as a Miracle: when you ask, He sends surrogates, angels on earth, to comply.

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