A few months ago I lost the last fish in my aquarium, a noble but elderly pink gourami. I wasn’t there when it lost its life, but my father speculated that it was suicide. In any event, the large aquarium has been unoccupied for months . . . just filtering itself, full of sparkling clean water. Why would I get new fish? I’m leaving on a Peace Corps journey, right?

Well May 1st arrived. May 1: proclaimed by me for months as the “outside deadline.” The date by which I’d know. And in my mind this date was quite a “conservative” estimate/deadline. May 1st -- the date by which I would hear something from a placement officer. And yet, nary a word.

Yesterday I uttered aloud the possibility of getting some new fish. Just tossed that notion right out into the universe. On the other hand, why would I get new fish if I’m leaving Texas in mid-summer? I could not possibly just “bail out” on my fish commitment. Then, bam! I realized: it’s like finally washing your car . . . it inevitably rains the next day. Like getting in the shower . . . and the phone rings.

It was all so simple and suddenly crystal clear . . . just like my aquarium water. Get fish, hear from the placement officer. How could I have been so blind? And following the generous offer of a friend to care for my fish in her aquarium, why not? Why not, indeed!? And thus I have ten happy little goldfish, though they are not all gold. I ask the Petsmart clerk why some of the fish aren’t even remotely gold. She said, “for the same reason that we don’t all have the same skin color.” Good answer.

So, is it a sign? Now that I have ten new little responsibilities, will the placement office contact me? We can only speculate.