Listen up

The scratchy static of the police scanner.

The sports guy loudly asking, "What was the score?"

The ticks and clicks of dozens of keyboards and mice.

I'm back in a daily newsroom.

I started as Sunday editor at The Herald-Mail in Hagerstown, Md., on March 31. My job is to plan and execute the Sunday edition, as well as picking up copy editing and layout duties the rest of the week.

Before I can plan and execute, I have to learn the system here. That's nothing new; I've worked at five other newspapers in the past 14 years. Each place had its own quirky computer system and house style.

But for the past year, I worked for a business weekly based in Harrisburg, Pa. My week was split between the home office and the "satellite office" down Interstate 83 in York.

While relatively pleasant, neither location felt like a newsroom.

And so, as I end my third night on the job, I take in the sounds, sights and... yes, smells... of a daily newspaper's headquarters.

It feels good.

Drying out

The clothes in the dryer don't know when their cycle is over.

They just keep riding the spin until it stops. 

Sometimes, the towel or shirt is comfortably pressed against the spinning cylinder. Sometimes they are falling, only to crash to the bottom of the dryer. 

Occasionally, they're mixed up with a dirty old sock. Sometimes, they're with some silky unmentionables. 

And, sometimes, someone might stick another quarter in the machine to keep things going. 

But, eventually, the cycle will end. The dryer will stop spinning. And the clothes will be removed, fluffed, folded and put away. 

Clearing

I left the house at 9:41 p.m. and before making it to the end of the street, I encountered the fog.

The cliche is "thick as pea soup."

I'd argue this ground cloud was on par with clam chowder. 

Even after leaving the neighborhood, there were dense patches on the winding, hilly road. 

A little more than an hour later, I was driving back. 

The fog was gone. In fact, the sky had become so clear, I could see my old pal, Orion. Jupiter (I think) was glowing brightly, too.

And I could see farther down the winding, hilly road. 

It struck me: What a difference an hour makes.

Dots

I was in need of comfort and guidance. Google gave me this.

"You can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something - your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life."

— Steve Jobs

Rainbow

We arrived at St. Peter's Cathedral in downtown Scranton at 4:30 for the 5 p.m. Mass.

My wife and I had just spent the day assessing the damage to our house caused by a flood. It's the second flood in seven months we've had in this house that's about three hours north and has been for sale for almost a year. 

I prayed for guidance. I prayed for wisdom. I prayed for help. 

The first reading was from Genesis, about what happened immediately after the flood waters receded in the story of Noah.

The priest started his homily with, "We are all familiar with the destructive power of water," then proceded to tell a story of two of his friends whose West Pittston home was inundated in one of the most recent hurricanes to hit NEPA.

A key line: The wife was crying over a water-soaked wedding photo, and the husband said: "Don't cry for anything that can't cry for you."

Another key line: The priest, in relating back to the story of Noah, stated that God made a covenant with humanity, saying he would never again destroy the earth by flood. 

I damn-near cried.

This is certainly not the first time I've had strange coincidences happen to me that seemingly offered guidance, wisdom and, ultimately, help.

When light hits water the right way, the result is a rainbow. 

Artsy flood shot of my garage shortly after we arrived.

No coincidences

Throughout my life, there have been times I've felt like I was being called to do something.

Little omens would pop up. Something that seemed totally random and out of place would show up before me, hinting which direction I should take. 

I've almost always listened to these signs. And, almost always, things have worked out. 

The problem: Sometimes, you get things you think probably are omens, but you're not sure toward what you're being directed. 

Fight on

Depression is a hard thing to battle. 

The only way out, though, seems to be through. 

If you're battling, too, know you're not alone.