Getting the message

Have you ever felt like someone was trying to send you a message, as if the universe in its vastness had singled you out, and with every turn you make, the strangest feeling that a greater force is watching over you? In the car, an old familiar song was playing on the radio “All shook up” by Elvis Presley, which I haven’t heard for a very long time, and if you listen carefully, some of the lyrics scarily could be related to Parkinson’s instead of the “love” about which he is singing. Arriving at a large store that I suspect we have all visited at least once, many of us are guilty of being regular visitors to the bright blue and yellow giant premises whose products have names one can hardly pronounce, let alone give you any clue as to what they are. Most items are fairly obvious, but there has been occasion, where a guessing game ensues; no matter which way I hold the item, I can’t seem to fathom out what it would be used for, and out of curiosity, I ask a sales assistant. Once they've explained, I immediately get it and ask myself “why didn't I think of that?” But I digress; the Swedish store very thoughtfully has wheelchairs and electric carts to use enabling the customer to see the entirety of the huge premises, not missing out on a single item. I sat in one of these electric carts, thinking I would relieve my husband from having to push me, only to find that the speed had been fixed to “extra slow”! How did they know I had trouble last time steering, almost knocking over fellow customers, not to mention several displays and stacks of products on sale. Had this store foreseen my arrival and ensuring safe passage, fixed the speed control to a snail’s pace? Having left there it was now late; my husband didn't want us to get home and start preparing food, so we stopped off at a little restaurant. As soon as we were seated, a friendly smiling waiter brought over a small plate with lots of extras napkins and individually wrapped wet wipes before we had even ordered! Was it that obvious; did I have a neon sign above my head informing all and sundry that I have Parkinson’s and would no doubt be dropping food and making a mess? Maybe all this meant nothing at all, it was simply co-incidence, or was there an angel watching over me? I think we’d all rather like to believe that someone is watching out for us.