27. Back where you belong
With the shift in attitude toward me came the pleasant realization that people outside my family liked my adventurous games and played along with me. Many started to use my numbers, the infamous Da Ninci Code, which I noticed everywhere. The proliferation of the Internet, plus the power of word-of-mouth, the cheapest form of marketing, was to blame for the spread of the magic.
It encouraged me seeing data, which I could immediately link to my website. Surely, more than 6 people were reading my writing. On Saturday March 5th 05 a classic example occurred. Somebody had read my website and was playing the game. The date perhaps made me more susceptible to take notice. Likewise those playing the game preferred dates with my numbers.
During a driving lesson that morning I directed my learner driver to turn right at the large roundabout on Smart Road, Modbury and then to choose a place for a safe U-Turn. As he did I noticed a large cardboard box sitting lonesome on the footpath. In large letters I could read the word ‘lettuce’. It immediately clicked, because I had written that I had picked up a lettuce box and thrown it into a nearby trash bin. The name of the street was Field St, McLaren Vale (Chapter 22).
At the end of the lesson I had not forgotten the box and felt I ought to drive back (about 3 kilometers) to pick it up. Driving east along Grand Junction Road I had planned to turn down Heysen Ave.
(The street lights on the corner Anders St. still had not been repaired since I had reported them - Mind, Chapter 50 – only today 31/3/05 I noticed another street light left on, near James Street. The two letters of the business name across the road, fitted perfectly into the picture).
Deep in thought I missed the turn. Had I not done so, I would not have moments later noticed a garage sale. Garage Sales had become very popular or did I just notice them more often?
I only stopped occasionally to visit. When I did visit some magic usually happened. Such as the time I turned off into a street called Waters Place. (It was not long after the Tsunami disaster in Asia, I think that’s the reason I went there). I was a little nervous, looking over the merchandise. I was the only customer. Three of the sellers just sat there as if doing nothing, but just watch me.
My attention fell on a black box. It was a storage container for Video Cassettes. As I opened the sliding drawer, I discovered a Video Cassette had been left in it. I read the title - Le Cornu’s Furniture. Le Cornu (‘le car knew’) is Adelaide’s largest Furniture Retailer. The incident reminded me how I had been led to a Furniture Store on Grand Junction Road, right opposite where I had collected a box from off the street (Chapter 17). I bought the video storage for four Dollars.
Having missed the turn-off to Heysen Avenue, I was drawn to this Garage Sale I couldn't avoid noticing. (Perhaps I was meant to miss it, so I would find the Garage Sale?). As I turned the car around I thought to myself: I bet the number on the letterbox will mean something. The number clicked – there was a close link, not only to the number 963, but also 153 – pure mathematical magic. (A week later, during a lesson with the same client my hunch would be confirmed, read on).
I had a total of 40 cents in my pocket. How bad can things get, when all you can afford are specials at the garage sales? (The driving lesson I had just given was for free, the 40 cents I kept, incase I had to make a phone call – mobile phone was empty). There was nothing to buy. As a word of wisdom I told the young lady, who sold mainly baby gear – at garage sales, people always want to buy what is not for sale!
I continued to the roundabout near the Modbury Hospital. The ‘lettuce’ box was still there. It was empty. It took less than 30 seconds to collect it. On the way home my memory recalled how a few days earlier I had noticed people posting a large sign outside a church. Fleetingly in passing, I read the words ‘car boot sale Sat’. Indeed, this was the day of the event and it was on my way home. With only 40 cents to risk, even my impulsive ways couldn't do too much damage.
Within minutes I found myself pretending to show interest in the merchandise, which I knew I would never use (or couldn’t afford). It’s amazing whom you meet at these church fund raising socials. One of the sellers was a man I recognized as the father of two of my previous learner drivers. Their address I deciphered at the time, only a few months prior, as ‘arrow to ‘one God’. I believed that they could see that I could see. It was amazing to behold.
Then I experienced something else, a rarity I had never seen before – a fair-dinkum Member of Parliament drove into the carpark and did what I did - pretend she was interested in second-hand toys, books, clothes, sports equipment etc. She obviously could afford to spend some cash. In passing I made a remark, which Isobel told me later was rude. (My apologies to F.B. – it’s my strange sense of humour).
I saw her a little later walk out with two boxes of Picture Puzzles. (Little wonder, politicians are busy people. Perhaps this is why they have paid helpers?).The following Saturday, on 12.3.05 I was swamped with Da Ninci from 5am until late. My diary fills 9 pages to report everything about this day. It would be too lengthy to write every road I traveled. (I will report some further ‘miracle walk’ in a chapter following).
Here is an example of a classic Da Ninci – On 12/3/05 I was guided to a lively, local Festival in the suburb of Prospect. It was not long after uploading “Seven Pink Balloons” and this is what I came across nearby. I was dumbfounded.
During my driving lesson that morning (I only conducted one) the client needed to practice parallel parking/ We drove to a spot I had not been for a long time. Before even stopping the car, I noticed a single pallet lying on the small reserve, right by our parking area. As the learner practiced, my mind ticked over. Ever since uploading the photograph of 4 pallets, stacked 5 high, and the truck’s registration number (450 - Mind Ch. 41) matching, pallets popped up everywhere.
(Once I saw pallets, lots of them, and stopped to count them. Only then did I notice a funeral was about to take place nearby. I attended. I knew I was meant to. Strange, but true – another untold story).
The number on the letterbox right opposite was No. 10 – interesting! I slowly became aware and convinced that I had been guided to practice parking at this location. Just in case, I left my business card, on the pallet to show I was there.
Driving away I had forgotten to check the name of the street. Perhaps it held a further clue? My hunch was correct. Driving around the block I read the sign. The street name had five letters - in simple Da Ninci it meant – ‘LA is Victory’. This was only days after I had reported my intention to travel to LA again. I would love to give specific street names and numbers, but it would not be right, if specific addresses were to become a target for attention of any kind.
Conducting a driving lesson involved observation. Perhaps my 24 years of driving from suburb to suburb, constantly watching for hidden danger, predisposed me for taking note of my surroundings more than the average person would?
Whatever the reason, I noticed the final clue to link not only to the No. 10 letterbox, but to above garage sale from a week earlier. It was another sign to a Garage Sale nearby. Without trying I worked out that the 2 digit number of this address, plus the number of 10 from moments earlier in ‘LA is Victory’ Street, made up the four digits of the number of the previous week’s Garage Sale. It all added up and I was having fun, no exertion of any kind, thinking about it, while conducting a driving lesson. (And it was again a free lesson, so I didn’t feel guilty either).
Late that same afternoon, still on 12/3/05, I borrowed my son’s bike for some exercise. I took the opportunity to re-visit this suburb, where all this took place. While struggling up one hill, pumping oxygen into my lungs, l suddenly realized that all street names in that locality were that of famous Australian painters - Heysen, Namatjira, Dobell, Pro Hart etc.
I had known this before, but riding my bicycle (sorry, my son’s bicycle – he must have won a theological argument the night before) I remembered that ‘paintings’ were a big theme in the previous upload. Was this a kind of follow-up? It’s a possibility.
On the way to the city I uncovered this beauty. Why another sign just for another hour's parking restriction? It did not make sense anyway, the shops which would want the extra hour's limit was on the right (5pm) side. The other side is a residential area.
The number of supernatural experiences, which I could never have planned, increased dramatically. Had I been in full-time employment, I would have had no time to re-think, work through and write down all the magic taking place. On this hour-long bike ride, as I rode through the car park of the a local Club, I saw that somebody had dumped three large plastic bags of rubbish. Early the next morning, before 7am, I was on my way, to pick them up. The plastic bags were black. Maybe this made me collect them?
As I loaded the heavy bags into my small van I read the phone number of the place on the board: …4447. Of course – it clicked: 3 for 7 (meaning, 3 bags for No. 7). The bags contained old soil, parts of it I would use in our Garden later.
Driving off I heard an item on the ABC News. “The cause of the fire at Golden Grove is now unclear …” Then I remembered hearing about the blaze, which supposedly had occurred in broad daylight the day before. The cause had been reported as ‘a cigarette flung from a moving vehicle’. Now they were not so sure. The way this blaze made news a second time, plus some observations on the TV News the night before, made me drive to the location only 10 minutes away.
It was right on sunrise; a lovely day was waiting to be lived. As I approached Golden Grove Highschool I looked up and saw in the distance, just above the tree line, a shiny cross. It looked as if it was suspended in mid-air. I took a photograph, which unfortunately didn’t show the magic, it was too small, too far away. The cross was most likely made of steel, which reflected in the rising sun, the supporting posts were wooden and didn’t show well. Therefore my astonishment, a cross, suspended in mid-air. (No miracle, sorry).
Still there was something remarkable about all this. After taking the photo I became aware of the name of the road – The Grove (grave) Way! Indeed, the cross and the grave are linked. But only for a short time. Fourteen days later billions around the world would be celebrating the victory of their hero Jesus, who went – from the cross to the grave, from the grave to the sky! Lord we lift your name on high. Millions were singing it in triumph on Easter Sunday! That shiny cross, suspended in the sky that morning, really inspired me.
The fire damage to the block of home units looked extensive. But how could a discarded cigarette have caused the blaze? The location, right on a major road, should have alerted passers by. The fire had to first destroy a brush fence and then spread over green lawns to reach the buildings. The TV report had mentioned grassland. There a big difference in the meaning of lawn and grassland. Something was not right about this matter. I sensed it. The name of the group of units - ‘Chelsea’ - was also worthy of noting in my diary.
|Looking south-east: The block of units, called 'Chelsea'. I also like Grand - New!||Just around the corner - the aftermath of the blaze. I don't know where the reported 'grassland' is!|
I had chosen to park my green Suzuki in the spot next a Magna (perhaps it was another make?). The registration number was V…053. (There was also a J or T in that plate, I think). It was the only car nearby. On exiting I spotted what looked like the lid of a shoebox. L & D and shoebox had a vague connection to parts of my story. As usual I didn’t decide straight away to pick up this find. I was not obsessed and rather would have driven home. But I had to obey the inner prompting – not a voice, there is a difference).
It was the lid of a shoebox. The brand name was DUNLOP. The graphic on the entry page of my three books consist of a D & L on a P. (This far fetched connection is coming to me only just now as I am writing about it).
I cleaned the road of this debris. (Aha – now I also can make sense, why two men were sweeping a nearby section of this carpark at the same time with brooms!) I took this incident as an excuse to later write to Dunlop (USA) with one of my simple suggestions. For a long while I had thought about this:
Ever since valves on bicycles and car tubes were manufactured in the same size, I thought what a step in the right direction! The kids now could pinch the valves of dad’s car and use it on their bike! What was now needed was to manufacture the caps of the small tubes of glue, used for repairing punctures, to also be made the same size. They could then be used as caps for bikes and car valves. Kids would not need to become thieves! My email idea was acknowledged, which I appreciated. What now is not up to me.
Looking back over my working life I had been frustrated on many occupations. I saw what I perceived to be simple solutions or ways to improve something. But most times my ideas fell on deaf ears. Perhaps it was my direct (German) approach, which gave rise to being rejected. Some of my ideas may have been mediocre or simply unworkable, but not all. And if they were, why not tell me so, diplomatically.
Another reason of my lack of acceptance, especially in my earlier years in Australia, was the fact that I was the newcomer. New arrivals to this multi-cultural nation had to first learn, how things functioned in their country of choice. Sadly many felt rejected, because their ideas were. Many migrants have similar stories to mine, no doubt.
A common sentiment expressed at the time was, and is still heard occasionally today in certain fields: “If you don’t like it – go back were you came from”.
On the surface - this made sense. Many did go back to where they had come from.