I’m again at a crossroads with my handsewn quilt, which is part creative expression and part investigative learning. I finished my first quilt during the 2020-2021 pandemic years, which is its own story. Since I was doing it at home alone, the internet became my best resource. Hand quilting is almost a lost art, and it’s been challenging to find answers to my many questions. I watch videos about quilting, and then adapt what I see to what I’m trying to do by hand. It’s interesting to watch a variety of quilters and their personal techniques, which helped me realize that although I’m doing a traditional sewing project, it’s also an open platform for my own creative ideas. I can literally make it however I want.

            I enjoyed quilting so much that I immediately started making a second quilt. I found a wonderful local quilt shop and proprietor who listens to my novice questions and admires my stitching. She often posts photos of new fabric and packets of squares already cut, and I fell in love with a bold color palette of retro prints. After agonizing for weeks about what to use as a neutral, I chose one of the prints in the set, a light gray with tiny dominoes. The quilt pattern I chose is called June Squares, and the blocks are now pieced together to form the body of the quilt. The next step is adding any decorative stitching I choose inside the neutral borders, thus the temporary halt.

            The gray thread I’m using doesn’t show up well with the tiny domino motif, so I had the idea of trying some different weights of thread for a bolder look. Also, my needle is very small, so I retrieved my sewing box out of the hallway linen closet in search of larger needles with bigger eyes.

            My sewing box is a Converse shoe box that I’ve moved around with me through the years. It contains the usual jumble of basic sewing essentials, but I found only small needles. The I spotted the vintage sewing box that belonged to my husband Gaylon’s mother, which has been in the closet for years. I decided to look through it for things that might be useful for my quilting project.

            Gaylon and I married later in life, and both sets of our parents died long before we found each other. I know my mother-in-law only through photos and stories and snippets of history she left behind. She had a helpful habit of putting small handwritten tags on heirlooms with information about who it belonged to or where it came from. I found this note inside the lid:

            “Sewing box used by Leona Carter in the 20’s thru 40’s, then by Vivian”

            Not only were some of the items inside the sewing box used by Gaylon’s mother, Vivian, but also his grandmother, Leona, starting in the early 1920s. Respectfully, I lifted things out one at a time. On top was a hefty pair of stainless-steel scissors, in excellent condition, and I instantly claimed them for my sewing table. There were various hooks and eyes still sewn onto cardboard, loose buttons, colorful spools of thread, a requisite red pin cushion with the little strawberry hanging off the top, and into it poked a wide array of needles. I also found a small silver thimble which fit my finger perfectly. I took the thimble plus a couple of needles and put everything back in order, the way she had left it for future sewers.

            I’ll add the handful of buttons to my own mother’s button box, also in the closet. I have memories of sitting on her bed, my small hands sifting and sorting the buttons like precious jewels, some 60-plus years ago. I’m excited to work on this next phase of my quilt using my newly acquired treasures. The shiny silver scissors are now in full view on my sewing table and have already become integral to my process. These newly found treasures are symbols of our joined lives, the piecing together of family histories into a new, colorful piece of art.

The United States is late to the party. The nation’s top leadership is unreliable, and we’re spoiled. We’ve been force-fed a superiority complex for years, meaningless against an unknown, fast moving virus for which we have no immunity. I could stay away from social media and news sources and live in a cloud of denial. Or, I could question the ramifications of the privileged way of life I live.

At the beginning of the pandemic I laughed about the toilet paper rush. The Covid-19 virus attacks lungs, not intestines. Why are people panicking over a lack of toilet paper? But as days go by and the threat of isolation looms long, I’ve started questioning my own dependence on toilet paper. For one thing, I now pay attention to how much I use. Do I really need a handful? Am I that afraid of touching my own bodily waste, created from the food I eat for nourishment?

Then I read an article written by someone outside of the U.S. who said that Americans don’t use toilet paper correctly. He listed the toilet habits of other countries, and their use of water for a thorough rinsing. He even suggested one could use soap and water…with their own hands. You’re washing your hands anyway, he said. Americans walk around with “stinky butts,” he claimed. No amount of scraping with dry toilet paper was going to help with that.

A good friend shared a personal story on social media about her upbringing in the Ozarks of rural Missouri. Her family of thirteen siblings had no inside bathroom or running water. She grew up using an outhouse and drinking water from a stream. Her main point was that she and her family survived that, and we can survive this. An incredulous reader asked what they used for toilet paper? Her answer is just what you’d expect…the siblings all vied for the index pages from the Sears catalog because they were the softest, she explained. Her post was directed at those hoarding supplies. But the overall message is that for the most part, we’re strong, resilient and adaptable.

Another friend emailed a group I’m part of and mentioned she had stocked up on facial tissue which she could use for TP if necessary. Except, I once read an article about the things we should not flush down the toilet, and the most surprising item was facial tissue. It’s made using a stronger weave of fibers that’s not meant to dissolve like toilet paper and clogs up sewer pipes. Who among us has flushed facial tissues down the toilet? I don’t now but I didn’t know any better the previous 60+ years of my life.

When I heard that schools were closing for the rest of the semester, my thoughts went to a friend, a retired teacher, who lives 70 miles outside of Kansas City. She is also a minister, and volunteers at the local food pantry serving meals and interacting with the people who utilize this service. She once told me that that over 70% of school children in that community rely on subsidized food. There are many, many issues more important than toilet paper, which is way down the list of things we can live without. As we spend more time in social isolation, watching the number of deaths rise and the financial world break down, our priorities will surely change.

In the meantime, stay home and stay safe. Wash your hands thoroughly and often. Create home projects, read books, write your memoir, make phone calls to friends and family. Ration your use of toilet paper — and everything else — while we figure this out. Peace.

          She reached out to me online, inviting me to join a women’s holiday singing group. We connected on social media; I think she may have posted that she was looking for women harmony singers and I responded. At that time MySpace was still popular for musicians, and she found my page and listened to some of my original songs, noticing our shared love of strong harmony vocals.

We met at her house in a sketchy part of town, but that was Emily*. She loves people and lives without fear, and her neighbors seemed to watch out for her. Her home was full of reclaimed furniture and eclectic décor, reflecting her bohemian nature. The group of women she gathered were from different parts of her life, including me, a stranger that she trustingly invited into her fold.

Emily and I became instant friends, bonding over singing, arranging music, and shared life experiences. The more we talked, the more I revealed about my unhappy marriage and desire to make a change. She offered observations, but mostly she offered a kind ear as she listened to me work through my situation and possible outcomes. One night she showed up at my house in a snowstorm with a bouquet of tulips she bought at a flower shop sale. She seemed to intuit when I needed support and encouragement.

Finally, I made the decision to leave my husband and start a new life. I rented an apartment nearby and gave him the news, which went horribly. My new place wasn’t available for two weeks, so we agreed that I would sleep in the guest room as we transitioned into a separation. But our problems escalated, now heightened to a new level by my decision to move out. Living in the same house together became volatile. I was in crisis and barely breathing.

A week into this arrangement, Emily called to check on me. I had a bad headache, and she could tell I was upset. Suddenly, she said, “Hang up the phone, get into your car and come to my house. You can stay with me until your apartment is ready.” I gathered up some work clothes and incidentals and was in my car within minutes.

When I parked in front of her house, I saw white twinkling lights strewn about on the porch. Upon entering, candles flickered in the dimmed light. She guided me to the guest room, where the bed was made up, surrounded by plants and more strings of lights. It felt like walking into a spa; warm, inviting and comforting.

The next morning, I awoke to coffee, warmed slices of challah bread and the sweet tones of Joni Mitchell. We sat together, chatting about our schedules and planned to meet back at the house that evening for dinner. The rest of the week went on like this as I rested, cleared my head and made plans for my future.

That was a little over ten years ago. I don’t see Emily as much these days, as both of our lives evolved and grew in different directions. She surfaces once in awhile to invite me to vocal concerts or to do something fun, usually spur-of-the-moment, as is her way. Once she called out of the blue to see if I could pick her up from the airport after a trip overseas. “Of course!” I said. Recently she texted, asking if I could meet her at a recording studio to record vocals for a song she wrote to be included in a Jewish anthology of music. I was there in an hour. I’m happy to do anything she asks. Emily is a true example of an angel on earth, and I’m forever thankful for her presence in my life.

*Emily also appears in my story, “Changing My Attitude.”

I met my friend at our usual lunch place, where we go about once a month. We love the food, healthy and attractively plated, with a cup of hot tea or a glass of wine. The decor is contemporary and classy, the booths are spacious, and it’s quiet for talking. I planned on buying lunch to celebrate her recent birthday.

After we finished eating, the server, a lovely young woman who had waited on us in the past, handed me the check. The total was $41.22, so I took three twenty-dollar bills from my wallet and put them inside the receipt holder. My friend and I continued our conversation, talking as much as possible until she had to return to work.

Soon the server returned, handed the holder back to me and thanked us for coming in. As she walked away, I opened it to find one five-dollar bill and three ones. First, I noticed that the coins from my change were missing. This seems to be a trend in some restaurants; the server rounds up the total to avoid handling coins, or maybe this practice adds up to a little extra cash after a long day of work. This annoys my husband, who insists the server bring ALL of his change, but I choose to let it go. However, this time I was also missing ten dollars. I know I gave the server three twenties because I’d just completed a project for a group of friends, and everyone paid me back with twenty-dollar bills. I thought maybe I’d been distracted by the conversation with my friend, so I added it up again just to make sure.

Now our server was nowhere to be seen. We continued chatting while I watched for her to reappear. Finally, she came back to our area and was checking other tables, not looking our way. I called out “excuse me” to get her attention and waved her over to our booth.

“I’m sure I put three twenty-dollar bills in here…” I began explaining, but she cut me off and said, “Oh, right, yes, I have it right here.” A ten dollar bill was in another receipt holder in her hand, which she quickly took out and handed to me.

I like to give people the benefit of the doubt, and up to this point she had been professional and attentive. But this seemed fishy to me. Did she hope I wouldn’t notice? Why was the ten dollars in a separate holder in her hand? And why didn’t she apologize for her mistake?

I thought about reporting this to the restaurant manager but decided not to bother. I can’t be sure she didn’t just make forget, and since I eventually received the correct change (minus the coins), I chose not to say anything further.

A couple of days later I went to a chain convenience store to get a variety of items, and especially to use a $10-off-$40 coupon that would expire the next day. Once inside, I found a shopping cart, laid my coupons in the basket so I wouldn’t forget to use them, and walked around the store, finding the items on my list plus a few small things to reach my $40 goal. But when I went to pay and put my purchases on the counter, my little stack of coupons was gone. The man running the cash register could tell I was looking for something, so I said, “Gosh darn it, looks like I lost my coupons!” He said he’d set my items aside if I wanted to go look for them.

I retraced my steps around the store several times, sure that those small white papers would be easy to spot, but with no luck. I walked back to the register shaking my head, and said “It’s okay, it’s my own fault.” He felt sorry for me and suggested that if I put the store app on my phone, the coupons will go directly into my account and I won’t need to carry them to the store. He used my phone number to pull up my account and added my email address right then. As we talked, he looked through my bag for a couple of items that equaled close to $10 and refunded them for me. What a surprise! I thanked him for his kindness and excellent customer service.

These two episodes were both about ten dollars, which doesn’t seem like much these days. It’s the price of a lipstick or event parking or fancy coffee with a scone. The point is that the attitude of the people involved changed the way I felt about what happened. No price can be put on the value of kindness and respect. Will I return to that restaurant? Maybe not, and if I do, I’ll always remember what happened. Will I shop again at that convenience store again? You bet!

I’ve always been active, playing in a variety of sports and physical pursuits. As a young girl I swung high on playground swing sets, played backyard kickball, rode bikes and skateboards. In teenage years I loved gymnastics and played competitive volleyball. I continued volleyball after becoming a young wife and mother, and added running a couple of miles a few days a week. During my corporate years in the 1980s, I spent lunch time in the workout room wearing my trendy leotard, tights and legwarmers as I followed Jane Fonda’s legendary video. (Why did we wear legwarmers? And, they’re back in style!)

In my late thirties I became single, and trauma, anxiety and bad habits took over my life. I experienced the loss of several loved ones. During this time I also lost myself and gained weight. To regain control of my life, I started walking every day, which eventually turned into running. A friend introduced me to a running group, and I learned how to run long distance. After completing many half-marathons and doing intensive training, I ran the Chicago Marathon in 2008.

Then, in my fifties, I was alone again. I moved to a neighborhood that didn’t feel safe for running by myself. By this time I was performing regularly as a musician, which included many late nights. I was also self-employed, meaning I worked all the time. Still, I walked whenever I could fit it into my schedule, trying to keep my cholesterol low, burn calories and keep up my heart rate.

Even though I’m health conscious, something was missing. I’ve never slept well, with my brain spinning nonsense and anxiety. For years, family issues, work and music kept me going at a frenetic pace. Then in 2013 I met a wonderful man, now my husband, who was retired and suggested I retire, too. He gifted me with the opportunity to slow down my life, weed out what no longer served me, and try new things.

In the past I’d been curious about yoga, watched some videos and read some books about it, but without someone to guide me, it didn’t connect. I reconnected with a former work friend who was now into yoga and raved about its benefits. My husband, a longtime yoga practitioner, mentioned that he started with a Jane Fonda yoga video. Jane Fonda’s workout helped me in the past, and she is a known exercise guru. Jane Fonda AM/PM Yoga for Beginners is a great starting point for both uninitiated and mature adults, with a choice of three routines each lasting around twelve minutes. It felt great and I could see benefits even with these short workouts. After a couple of months I became bored with the limited routines and decided to look for a yoga studio close to where I live. The Yoga Patch is only a couple of miles away, and one class, Slow Yoga with Joe, looked intriguing, so I grabbed my old blue Pilates mat and drove to class. I couldn’t find the building and arrived a few minutes late, but Joe greeted me warmly and I found an open spot near the front. I hoped I wouldn’t do anything embarrassing, like fall over or fart (it happens). I loved it and I’m now a regular in the class.

By “slow,” Joe means that poses are held for an extended time, and each pose flows slowly into the next. Joe explains clearly what to do while also demonstrating, and he emphasizes that each person should do what feels best and how to modify poses to fit our own ability and body. Breathing is an important part of yoga, and he reminds us how and when to breathe to get the maximum benefit of each movement. At the end of class, Joe leads participants into Savasana, which is Corpse Pose, lying on our backs. Chopra.com describes it this way: “Savasana might look like a nap at the end of your yoga practice. But it’s actually a fully conscious pose aimed at being awake, yet completely relaxed.” Which is exactly what it feels like and the perfect way to end each class. After resting for a few minutes, we slowly make our way to sitting. Joe says something like, “Thank you for practicing with me today. The light in me sees the light in you. Namaste.” We all say “Namaste” together with our hands in prayer position on our foreheads or hearts and bow toward the floor. Participants thank Joe for the great workout and his detailed and kind instruction.

When I practice yoga, I often close my eyes. I rarely look at other people or around the room, instead focusing on my own mind and body. When my mind wanders, as it often does, I catch myself and refocus on the moment. I concentrate on how each pose feels and what area of my body feels pain or discomfort. I learned how to send energy to where it’s needed for maximum effect. Now that I’ve been doing yoga for several years, just sitting down at the head of my mat puts me into a relaxed state. Holding poses is good for my muscles, and with added stretching and tension I feel limber and strong.

Once, I mentioned to Joe that I’m often sore the next day after yoga class. He said, “Really? I’d think with your regular practice at home you wouldn’t be sore.” So, my once-a-week yoga practice wasn’t enough? It seems I should be doing it on my own, too! At first, I felt insecure about this. I wasn’t sure I would remember poses without guidance. The next day, in my living room, I rolled out my mat, sat down in Lotus pose, closed my eyes, and put myself into the moment. I found I easily flowed from one pose to the next, choosing poses based on what seemed beneficial to my mind and body at that time.

My favorite pose is the Turtle; seated, touch the souls of the feet together and bend forward, sliding the forearms underneath the legs. It feels good on my back and inner thighs, and by adding pressure with my forearms, I can create tension and build strength. If I want, I can turn my forearms over and lift my legs, still touching at the feet, for Flower pose. During class one day, Joe told the class about an elderly female friend who does a Sun Salutation flow, a series of several common yoga poses including Plank and Downward Facing Dog, at least once every day. When I’m doing my home practice, I think of that woman and know that if nothing else, I can do a Sun Salutation flow.

Balance is what I’ve been missing in my life. Adding restful and calm activities to my busy list of tasks and chores allows my mind and body to reset. I meditate at times, too, which is easier now that I do yoga and know the calm feeling that comes using simple mantras to clear my mind. Balance is also a crucial part of yoga. Many yoga poses involve balance work to strengthen the core and spine. Along with yoga, I try to walk for thirty minutes or more almost every day. After reading Younger Next Year for Women, by Chris Crowley and Henry S. Lodge, M.D., I added a simple workout routine of squats and lunges, plus lifting small hand weights for upper body strength, a couple of times a week.

I’m 64 years old, not a “spring chicken” but I’m still an active person. I’m not completely virtuous, either. I’m lazy or tired sometimes just like anyone. I like sweets and I wish I could lose a few pounds. I sleep better these days, although not every night. But who knows how long any of us will live? I’ve lost people both young and old. What I do know is that I want to live the best life that I can, while I’m able, and to achieve this I’ll keep adding tools to help myself to my daily toolbox.

I wish I’d learned about yoga earlier in my life. But then I may not have found Slow Joe, as he is now known, who provided an informative and appealing introduction to yoga, and a solid base upon which to build my own practice. I enjoy yoga and its benefits so much that I sometimes dream about becoming a yogi and leading classes. For now, I think I’ll finish this essay, do a full body stretch and a Forward Fold, followed by a few minutes of Ujjayi breathing (also called “ocean breath) to let out toxins, and go about my day.

Namaste.

Digging for keys, I felt around in my purse for the fob and yanked it out, with a frustrated force that usually accompanies this search. As the keys popped out, a loose penny escaped as well, hurling itself toward freedom. The penny remained airborne for at least a foot before landing on the concrete parking lot and rolling toward the curb. I stooped to pick it up but decided, instead, to leave it for someone to find, a little surprise luck for the day.

The newly sprung penny landed with its tail on top. Some folks only pick up a found penny if it lands heads up. I pick up every penny, heads or tails, believing it’s lucky just because I found it. If I find a dime or a quarter, even better; ten or twenty-five days of good luck! I love finding money lying in wait for me on the ground. Once I found a fifty dollar bill. That’s a lot of lucky days!

Some people believe finding a penny is a sign from a lost loved one in another dimension. In my song, “Shadow,” I wrote this lyric: “When I’m alone are you with me, dropping a penny for thought?” We miss our loved ones and want to feel a connection, even a symbol as small as a penny.

After my adult son died from a brain tumor, I felt lost in grief. Walking became a survival tactic, forcing me to get up, go outside, and keep moving. I would spend that time thinking, or not thinking at all, or crying. I randomly walked my neighborhood, turning a corner on a whim or because I saw another human I hoped to avoid. One time, very soon after my loss, I set out for a walk and within a few blocks of my house, a little boy ran up to me out of nowhere. He proudly handed me a slightly wilted flower picked from the yard. Whether it was a sign from my beloved son, or just an innocent little boy waiting for someone to happen by, who knows. But, the gesture touched me and meant so much in the context of my recent loss.

When my dad died at age 66 from heart failure, I felt relief. His alcoholism strained our relationship for over 30 years. I worried constantly that he would hurt someone, or himself. In the final years of his life, my dad’s favorite hobby became feeding birds in his backyard. After he died, I realized I thought of him every time I saw a bright red cardinal. Now when I see one, I say, “Hi, Dad!” Sometimes a cardinal sits in a bush outside my living room window, and I like to think my dad is checking in on me. This pretty bird has become a healing connection between us.

According to some spiritualists, if we pay attention and watch for them, signs are everywhere to help us navigate through life. Did you hit every red light on the way to wherever you’re going? Take a breath and slow down. Flat tire on the way to a date or job interview? Maybe it’s not the one for you.

A few years ago a new friend – and potential suitor – invited me over for dinner. That evening, as I drove to his house, a big truck sideswiped my car, ripping the driver’s side mirror clean off. Upon arrival I was a bit shaken, to which my spiritually minded dinner date said, “Do you think this is some kind of sign”? During dinner I learned that this man had the same birthday as my recent ex-husband. Later, he told me, “I think I should tell you that I like to date a lot of women.” Good to know. Three warning signs = no thanks.

As you travel on your daily journey, whatever the token or thing might be that prompts a memory, provides joy or comfort, or opens your eyes, I hope you see it. If you’re anywhere near the parking lot just east of the Fine Arts building at The University of Missouri-Kansas City, there’s a shiny penny waiting to be found!

P.S. You can read about animal symbolism and seeing things a different way in my recent essay, “Changing My Attitude.”

On Christmas Eve, Gaylon and I invited our friend, Joe, and his son, Ben,  who was visiting from California, over for dinner. They brought huge crab legs flown in from Alaska and cheesecake from André’s; we prepared a green salad, creamy scalloped potatoes, and warmed Italian bread to round out the meal. Later we relaxed by the fireplace with dessert, after dinner drinks and conversation.

One of our discussions came around to the new supermarket under construction just a few blocks away. As always, when the topic of grocery shopping comes up, I blurted out, “I hate going to the grocery store! It’s my most despised chore. I’d rather clean toilets.”

Ben laughed and replied, “Oh, really? I love going to the store. I make it a whole experience!” He went on to explain that he doesn’t cook much because of his work schedule and instead visits the local market almost daily. Upon arrival he buys a cup of coffee. Then he circles the aisles a few times while he sips, casually enjoying the atmosphere and looking at displays. He says hello to the butcher, who is a good conversationalist and usually offers up a sample of salami or something fresh. Finally he picks up a few items to eat that day and goes on his way.

Ben added, “I will say that the grocery stores in California are remarkably different than the ones here, full of colorful fresh produce and wide open aisles.” The two grocery stores I most often frequent are located within a mile of our house. I almost always go to the older, more accessible store with a diverse clientele. The other store has more exotic fare, like red lentils for a Moroccan soup, or the dark chocolate cocoa mix my husband prefers, but it’s always a quick run in and out. We live in the Midwest, and this time of year the produce is mostly imported and not always pretty. Both of these grocery stores are crowded with narrow aisles.

Later, I was still thinking about this. I live in a metropolitan area with a plethora of markets and stores from which to choose. What stops me, other than the convenient location, from trying out other grocery stores or supermarkets where I can enjoy a nice shopping experience? Or simply changing my attitude about the grocery store where I regularly shop? It doesn’t offer coffee, but there are two coffee shops nearby where I could easily grab a to-go cup for my shopping trip. Instead of hurrying to get in and out, I could thoughtfully consider my grocery needs and casually walk around, looking at what’s on sale and getting ideas for meals. Why the rush?

The next day, on Christmas morning, something happened that triggered a memory of another story about seeing things in a new way. Gaylon went outside to fill the bird feeder and scatter bird seed on a couple of benches near the back fence. After he came back inside, I gazed out the window into our backyard, covered in fresh, new snow and now filling with an array of colorful cardinals, mourning doves, wrens and sparrows. And a rat. I watched a few minutes to be sure it wasn’t my imagination. Maybe it was a squirrel with a wimpy tail. But when it jumped up on one of the benches to get more food, it was clearly a brown field rat. “Gaylon!” I yelled, “there’s a rat eating the bird seed!” As he quickly opened the back door the rat scurried behind our neighbor’s garage. A few minutes later, the allure of such an easy food source brought it back out again. This time Gaylon grabbed the Super Soaker squirt gun he usually reserves for squirrels and ran outside, spraying water as he headed toward the bench. He squirted water heavily behind the neighbor’s garage and soaked the area next to the birdfeeder. That seemed to scare the critter from coming back, at least while we were watching.

I hate rats! I love snakes, and I have a deep respect for spiders, but rats are my nightmare. In our neighborhood, called Brookside, people openly talk about the “Brookside rats.” Most of the houses and sewers are old, and we’re not far from a park with a large pond. The area is highly populated, and there are restaurants nearby. The neighborhood to the south of ours, Waldo, is now talking about its own “Waldo rats,” thanks to new restaurants and ongoing road construction. I understand that living in cities means we live among all kinds of vermin, but I don’t want to see them!

However – and I concede this is a big stretch – there is another way to look at rats. First of all, Gaylon likes to remind me that rats eat garbage. He sees them as an animal with a job to do. But I also remember another story about rats. A few years ago, I drove with my friend, Emily, to eat dinner at her favorite Mexican restaurant in a strip mall. We pulled into the shopping center parking lot and Emily suddenly exclaims, “Oh! There’s a rat!” It was running on the sidewalk next to the building.  I freaked out! This is not what I wanted to see, especially right before eating dinner.  But then Emily added, “Seeing a rat is good luck! It’s a sign of prosperity!” Later, I researched this idea and sure enough, in China, a rat is a symbol of industry and prosperity. As an animal totem, it means survivor. In Greek symbolism, a rat means wealth and abundance. To see a white rat is even more fortuitous.

I’ll always be horrified to see a rat. But if I do, I’ll also think of Emily’s positive way of looking at life and remind myself of my good fortune. I’m lucky and blessed despite times of loss and heartache. When we watch the evening news, Gaylon and I often remark that we have absolutely nothing to complain about. We have food, shelter and warmth; loving family, friends, and good health. Going to the grocery store is a small chore that I can make more appealing with a change in my own mind and a cup of coffee. Hey, I saw a Christmas rat! Best wishes to all for a prosperous and happy new year!