I just love it when synchronicity kicks in to solve a problem. So it was this week when my son called, wanting to know where to buy a canvas clothes closet just like one I had in the basement. Since mine was only holding unused medical equipment and I hate the idea of spending money needlessly, I was inspired to clean out the wardrobe and hand it over to him.

Fine idea, but ever try to unload pieces of random medical equipment all in one place? If I were in charge of the world, there would be a centralized Medicare warehouse that redistributes this stuff, but don’t get me started. And we won’t go into the full time job it would be to sell it all on Craig’s list.

Instead, I Googled the problem and discovered a warehouse called MedWish International (www.medwish.org) , a non-profit in Cleveland that distributes medical equipment worldwide. And ta-dah! I had to drive up that way regardless for a friend’s book-signing party. So Tuesday saw me trucking up 71-North, Prius jammed with a manual wheelchair, half a dozen seat cushions, some sort of circulation pump, a variety of crutches and canes and the crowning glory – a bedside toilet chair. I felt like I was driving an African bush taxi and I prayed I wouldn’t break down.

Happily, the medical delivery went without a hitch. MedWish Director of Operations Mimi Hable even met me in the parking lot and helped unload.

So as of last evening, mission accomplished! My son has the clothes closet. MedWish has a ton of equipment. And thanks to my husband’s perseverance in acquiring this stuff in the first place, people around the world – and especially their tushes – will be more comfortable. Success all around.

Others may be dragging hoses through their flower beds trying to keep those blooms blooming, but I’m happy to report I’ve discovered a new heat-proof gardening technique that would make my mom (but not my late mother-in-law) roll over in her grave.   Silk Flowers.

Gracing my front stoop is an ever-fresh collection of blossoms that look perky from the curb in any weather. They give the impression on a quick drive by, that I have, in fact, gardened.

As a consolation to my green-thumb mom, I’ve stuck them in her umbrella stand. She would at least be happy at least that it’s being used.

And probably astonished that a family of bag worms has nested among the blossoms.  Don’t tell me you can’t fool nature.

I’ve always been a fan of motivational speaker Tony Robbins. He seems to have such a good time up there in front of thousands, and who could not be inspired by his enthusiasm for following your passion?

But I never expected to find him in the master bedroom closet. The other night, though, there he was. I’d gone fishing through a few more cardboard boxes in seemingly endless quest to put my late husband “stuff” in the hands of someone who could use it.

There, in a little plastic flip box was an audiotape of Tony – labelled in the unmistakable perfect printing of my Bob’s older sister Sally. Through a happy coincidence, the box also held a working tape recorder. The reward of the cleaning spree was an evening with Tony, urging me to “shape my destiny” and identifying for me the “six basic human needs.”

Unfortunately, we only got through three (certainty, significance and love). Apparently there’s a second tape somewhere. I can’t wait to find it. Meanwhile, Tony has motivated me … to keep cleaning.

The time of day was not appealing. 7:15 AM for morning meditation. But after the moaning and groaning, I have to admit that the Sikh meditation exercise was one of the most lasting gifts I carried away from a vacation week at Chautauqua.

Repeating it for 15 minutes each morning feels symbolic of another lesson learned there, that regular practice is as important as success. It is so easy to flit, to try one thing and then another, when remaining faithful to a regular routine can provide the structure we need. To say nothing of the calm that comes from putting the cell phone on “quiet” and closing the door.

If random thoughts sneak in, as they inevitably will, try calling them by name, as Elizabeth Lesser suggests in “The Seeker’s Guide.” Just say “thinking, thinking, thinking,” and they will skulk away. At least temporarily.