I just love it. Maybe I'm actually living in the flow and don't know it, because this also happened:
A woman came into the library's book store recently and was looking for books by a particular author. I'm not sure what she said, exactly, except she knew how to say his name correctly. You can make up your own beautiful sounds--it's far too complex for me to attempt in writing. It quite something to hear the properly pronounced and accented name: "Paulo Coelho."
I could see that my coworker wasn't getting it. I wasn't completely sure that I was getting it, either, but somehow I knew what I needed to do: I translated. "She means Paul-oh COLE-hoe," I said. Yes, that's exactly who she meant! We didn't have the book on hand, but she's on the waiting list now.
Later that same day, as I'm reading along in Ilustrado (a novel set in the Philippines, for goodness' sake), what do I read? One of the characters says she likes a local author, but that "He's no Paulo Coelho."
I mean really, what are the chances?
For the record, Paulo Coelho is a Brazilian lyricist and novelist, and his book The Alchemist, already on my TBR list, has moved up quite a few notches. I'm thinking it's probably time for me to read it, given all these hints from the Universe.