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The evening sky stretched above us; a vast canvas of ink-black darkness speckled with the brilliance of a thousand stars. The town lights in the distance shimmered softly, mirroring the celestial river of stars that flowed from horizon to horizon. Amidst this cosmic symphony, my grandmother's humble "kitchen" glowed with the warmth of a small, crackling fire. It was the heart of our evenings, a place where stories came alive in the dance of flames fueled by the acacia thorn tree. Gathering wood for the fire was a ritual in itself, a laborious task that demanded respect for the unforgiving nature of the acacia thorn tree. Its branches, adorned with sharp thorns, challenged even the most seasoned hands. Yet, for us, each prick was a reminder of the resilience ingrained in our daily lives. The fire itself seemed alive, its flames flickering and curling with a voracious appetite, consuming the dry, twisted branches with a crackling intensity that mirrored the stories we gathered to hear. Around the fire, we sat in a circle, a mix of young and old, drawn together by the magnetic pull of my grandmother's storytelling. She was a repository of wisdom, her voice a melody that wove through the fabric of our evenings. Her eyes, though weathered by time, gleamed with a youthful vigor whenever she began to speak. "Esiku limwe opwali puna," she began each story the same way, “Once upon a time, there was” Her stories were windows into a world of African folklore, tales passed down through generations, each one a testament to the resilience, courage, and wisdom of our ancestors. We listened with rapt attention, as if hearing them for the first time, our imaginations ignited by her words. In those moments, the boundaries between reality and myth blurred, and we found ourselves transported into a realm where animals spoke, spirits roamed the earth, and ordinary people achieved extraordinary feats. As the fire crackled, casting flickering shadows on the faces around me, I could feel a sense of belonging that transcended words. Each story carried with it a lesson, a moral woven seamlessly into the fabric of the narrative. Through tales of bravery, kindness, and perseverance, my grandmother imparted values that shaped not just our understanding of the world, but our very souls. My grandmother's voice painted vivid pictures in my mind, each detail etched into memory like the intricate patterns on her worn storytelling cloth. But it wasn't just the stories themselves that left an indelible mark on us. It was the way my grandmother told them—with passion, with humour, with a deep reverence for the traditions that had shaped our family for generations. Her stories were a bridge between past and present, a reminder of our roots in a rapidly changing world. Around the fire, laughter mingled with the crackling of burning wood, creating a symphony of sound that echoed across the quiet night. We shared not only stories but also ourselves, our hopes, our fears, our dreams. In those moments, the divisions of age, of experience, melted away, leaving only the warmth of shared humanity. Sometimes, during breaks in the storytelling, my grandmother would sing softly, her voice carrying ancient melodies that seemed to resonate with the very heartbeat of our ancestors. Her songs were like lullabies for the soul, soothing and comforting, weaving a tapestry of connection that spanned generations. As the night deepened and the fire burned low, I often found myself lost in contemplation, gazing up at the vast expanse of stars overhead. Each one seemed to hold a story of its own, a testament to the enduring power of storytelling to transcend time and space. And in those quiet moments, I understood that the fire we tended each evening was more than just a source of warmth—it was a beacon of light, illuminating the path that had brought us here and guiding us toward the future. In the embrace of my grandmother's stories, I discovered not only the richness of my heritage but also the resilience of the human spirit. They taught me that no matter how daunting the journey, there is always a story waiting to be told, a lesson waiting to be learned, and a community waiting to be embraced. As the last embers of the fire faded into the night, leaving only the memory of warmth on my skin, I knew that I carried within me not just the stories of my grandmother, but the essence of who we were as a family, as a people. And in that knowledge, I found a sense of belonging that anchored me amidst the uncertainties of life. For in the glow of that moonless, starlit sky, around a fire, I learned that the truest stories are those that illuminate the soul and unite us. And as long as there are fires burning and hearts willing to listen, the legacy of storytelling will endure, weaving its magic across time and generations to come.

It's only after you leave a place for a while and come back, do you truly realize everything your small hometown has – and doesn't have – to offer. I am a native of Chippewa Falls, specifically the Town of Lafayette. I grew up among the rolling hills of the apple orchards, where my family has lived for generations. I moved to Oshkosh in 2014 so my now-ex could pursue schooling. I was terrified at first, having never been away from home, but I quickly grew to love it. Many weekends were spent exploring the numerous “seaside towns” on Lake Michigan – Manitowoc, Sheboygan, Two Rivers, Port Washington, and others. There was no shortage of things to do and see and places to eat. When the ugly end of our relationship took me to Green Bay, I used my new-found freedom to explore every park I could find within an hour drive. I was absolutely enamored with the “east coast” of Wisconsin, and had no intention of leaving. But the Universe had different plans. A series of unfortunate events led my husband and I back here in April 2023. Because of the traumatic events that had been taking place in our lives at that time, being back home with family was an instant balm to my soul. I remember the first time I looked up at the night sky and saw the brilliance of countless stars, unpolluted by city lights – it brought tears to my eyes. When was the last time I had been able to see that? Being back in the country of my homeland was instantly comforting and refreshing. Life was safe here, and predictable. Our first summer back was one of the best summers of my life. We spent weekends relaxing on the boat and laughing around bonfires; we went to the fair, Pioneer Days, and Jaquish Sunflower Farm. I showed my husband Big Falls and Irvine Park. We enjoyed many dates getting ice cream at Olson's and walking around downtown. It was peaceful and perfect. Read the rest here: https://volumeone.org/articles/2024/06/30/344149-column-the-chippewa-valley-a-rest-stop-for-the

Here's a video of my first therapy dog, Bella. She was recused from Dead Dog Beach in Puerto Rico and we adopted her when she was four months old. She was super active and my vet suggested that she needed a job. We tried agility but it wasn't the right fit. But when she became a therapy dog at age five, we were all set. Bella was intuitive and curious and knew just what to do whether working with students or visiting patients in the hospital. This volunteer work provided the perfect balance to writing, and I'm still at it, now with my second therapy dog, Rudy. My book about Bella is titled "Joy Unleashed: The Story of Bella, the Unlikely Therapy Dog." It's done really well and is in its third printing. Enjoy!

Ding-Dong! “Stand clear of the closing doors, please” blasted the announcer's voice across the station. Jonah had heard this everyday since he could remember. “3 stops till Kingston” he thought, carrying a backpack full of books that he dreaded carrying for hours on the commute to and back from school. Jonah kicked his feet back and forth, his feet grazing the ground just slightly. He stared at the creases on his shoes who's brand he couldn't recall. They were some off brands anyways, no reason to remember which ones. The subway screeched to a halt, the faces outside the car that were once blurred stare back at Jonah. People start to push and shove the minute the doors open. Running up the stairs to leave the station, a mirage of conversations, mumblings and people talking flood Jonah's senses. He can't really make out what they're saying, he doesn't really try. “Jonah! How was school?” Jonah's finally made it to his destination. A small deli run by an older Korean man and his daughter. The sign outside reads “Ray's Delicatessen” but most people here call it “Ray's”, “Mr. Park's”, “the Park/Park” or “the Deli”. For Jonah, he calls it “home”. “Fine Mr. Park! Same as always!” replied Jonah Mr. Park shook his head and chuckled as he continued to tend to other customers, “As long as you're not getting into trouble” It's become a routine, Mr. Park asks how he is and Jonah replies with fine no matter what. Jonah tries to not stress him out, he always hears Hannah, Mr. Park's daughter, complain about her forehead wrinkles, crows feet and smile lines. Jonah doesn't see a problem but still tries to avoid making them worse Jonah slips behind the checkout counter, he sits on the blue crate right under the cash register and starts his homework on his knees like usual. History, English, then Science and Math, hardest to easiest. Jonah loves closing up shop and definitely not just because he gets to eat some of the unsold bagels and sausages. “Ai *tsk* Jonah, you know you mustn't sit here” exclames Mr. Park. Jonah doesn't move, Mr. Park doesn't really care. Time passes, business has been slow these days but it only means more time for Mr. Park and Jonah to talk. The deli was not just a place to get a quick eat for Jonah after school, it was his place of refuge, one of love and community. He had somewhere to be and all Mr. Park asked for in return were English lessons and to use some of Jonah's beginner-level novels to practice his reading skills. Jonah knew Mr. Park stopped needing those lessons a long time ago and for those textbooks, Mr. Park still reads them. Even though he completed all of them, cover to cover, hundreds of times, it still gives those literary works a second life. And Jonah would never mind when Mr. Park read them outloud to him either, even when he pretended to hate it. Bed-time stories were for ‘babies' and not 8 and a half year-olds. Still, “Maybe these books aren't so bad” thought Jonah. For without them, their friendship would be lost in translation.

I'm going to tell you a story, and it does not start with "Once upon a time...", but she might wish it did. For then, she too would be blissfully fictional and not painfully human. It is about the girl like any other. She liked the smell ground after the rain and hated the ultimate heat of the summer. Loved to get lost in the known parts of the woods and enjoyed how a creek can wash off all kinds of emotions. She loved dogs. Had two. She often admired her yellow cat for the simplicity of the days... Candles were for tough days and something sweet for every. Wind could make her feel alive and soothe the anger of raw emotion and strange people. She adored smelling that celestial aroma on her wrists, but often forget to put the perfume on. Loved ladybugs and nightingales, but never actually heard the exact lullaby. Fireflies were the magic and leaves could tell a story, though often a gloomy one. Spring could make her feel the pain of melancholy and autumn would make her feel alive again. Blood would make her wonder and people made her sick. Some days all the bottles of laughter she cherished so fondly were cracked and leaked in places, in time, melted with pain and grief. And when all that heroic pain became a burden, she'd start to grieve for the person she was before... the softness of a pillow, hot showers, and chocolate... the best thing for the worn-out soul. so that's when she'd realize that grief was just wild and forgotten love. Eyes are the mirrors and grin is a battle scar. Nothing can turn back time. Except for memories. And sometimes she hated that wretched window she could easily open. But through the image, the glass was already gone. So she would think of salt as an ocean and not a drop. Wild, ultimate, and free. The smell of the ocean always brought smiles and with the scent of pines, the moment of freedom. Cold is clarity for her and heat is too much. She likes the color blue and the sky with puffy clouds. In fields of green, she's frequently looking for clover with three petals, because that brings peace to the storms in the force of life around her. December sun can make her soul warm and she would smile like a new miracle was found. Every night they met, she often asked the Moon if she can make her full too because she was torn between the wonder of thoughts and wounds of reality; that didn't make her bitter, just more human than she knew. So, you see, all people enjoy Earth and what they think magic is in their different, but just another way of understanding the real world around them. Romanticized by the poets and worshipped by the nature. And sometimes air around you shifts and the path for the day goes well off the tracks... and the whole world is against you. Those days you frequently ask yourself about the mere purpose, but there's no known response that can bring you enough wisdom or happiness. It all belongs to you. All that pain and joy. Mind is a strange struggle itself, and I believe completely in that quote I bear in my mind; it sometimes creeps in, like a phantom and I find it sipping herbal tea, oblivious to my fear... "Not all those who wander are lost." So when our girl, that this story is about, goes looking for that particular wardrobe, blue box or huge hole near the tree... or even second star in the night sky... don't you dare to stop her! You can join her of course, and bring a book! She might not be fond of people in general, but I can tell that she likes humans with a rainbow in their eyes.

Although the initial fear about a new contagious coronavirus spread around the world in February 2020, it could not worry me at that time. I was preparing to start a new semester as an exchange graduate student in South Korea. I was over the moon, because I had dreamed of studying and traveling abroad all my life, and with just one step, the biggest dream would come true. As soon as the plane landed, we realised that we were in a different world. Everyone complied with the quarantine regulations, we arrived on campus and settled into the dormitory. However, the quarantine was strict, small trips around campus and the city were allowed for exchange students. Everything was great until I had a terrible accident with my bike on campus in the middle of April. It was an evening when I was bringing dinner for me and my roommates from a restaurant near our campus. I was not a professional bike rider, I was just riding at low speed because I lacked confidence. I was in a hurry because we had to go to Korean language class at 7 p.m., so I increased my speed. There was only one hill left and I was supposed to reach the dorm, but suddenly someone appeared on my way down the hill and I lost my balance and crashed to him. When I regained consciousness, I did not realize what had happened or how much time had passed. I was lying under my bike and about 2 meters away from me an old man was screaming in pain. Several students who were passing by immediately came to help and called the ambulance and the police. The old man sat there holding his leg and moaning in pain. Soon the ambulance and police arrived, they took the old man out of the car to give him first aid, and I found that one of the doctors spoke English, and I begged him to explain that I was sorry. I do not know if it was because of anger or pain, but he did not answer. The police began to question me. At that moment, one of the doctors told me that my hand was injured and that I needed first aid. Only then I felt a severe pain in the wrist of my right hand and I could not move my palm. The policemen looked at me with unusual suspicion and said they would go to our dormitory to check my documents. After that, they said they would contact me, then another ambulance arrived and took me to the hospital. As I sat in the ambulance, I still could not understand what had happened, I felt like a criminal. When the doctor who examined the X-ray results at the hospital said that my wrist bone was broken, that it needed to be operated on quickly, and that the surgery would cost $4,500-5,000, it all seemed was over. I could barely control myself , it was a huge amount in Uzbekistan currency, and it was obvious that my parents could not send me that much money. My friends got me out of the hospital and we came back to dorm and I asked them not to tell my family. I was facing a very difficult problem: my parents have always believed in me, but now if they find out about this incident, they may be horrified. Besides, they would have to borrow a large sum to send money for the operation. That night I could not sleep, it was the longest and hardest night of my life. The unbearable pain in my hand, as well as the thought that the achievements I had made so far were ruined because of this mistake and that no one would trust me anymore, gave me no peace. I fantasized about all the ways to make money, because my decision was made up, no matter what, I will not tell my family members! We consulted all day with my friends to find a solution, but we did not come up with a definite idea. Desperate, tired, and racked with pain, I returned to the dorm. My phone connected to the wifi, I checked the messages from Telegram, and there was a reply message from the insurance company. I immediately replied to the message and described the whole process. When I heard from him that my request could be accepted, all my pain was washed away with tears. Next day, I was told that I had to go to Chosun National University Hospital, where they would operate on my hand and all the costs would be covered by the company. After 2 days from surgery I left the hospital, successfully finished the semester with excellent grades and returned to Uzbekistan in July. By the way, the old man I had injured was a good person and did not sue me in any way, as I was told by the policeman who came at the end of the semester to close the case. At that moment I realized that I was a really lucky girl: otherwise I or an old man would have been seriously injured, he would have sued for damages, the insurance company would not have covered the expenses, and I would have lost the trust of my family and would have experienced a series of similar disappointments. But fortunately, everything turned out well, leaving only a scar on my right hand after the surgery.

The lessons we take from obstacles we encounter can be fundamental to later success. Recount a time when you faced a challenge, setback, or failure. How did it affect you, and what did you learn from the experience? “Obstacles are designed to teach us, not to break us.” My physics teacher Kakai's motto has been reminding me about his strength and knowledge about life and study. I have always appreciated this phrase and whenever I failed, I always repeated it within. However, before his arrival at our school, I was losing my hope. I come from Uzbekistan where the President of the country Shavkat Mirziyoyev, established Presidential Schools in 2019 for youth in order to produce workforces who can compete with the other staff worldwide. Students were selected by testing their knowledge about mathematics, English, critical and logical thinking. As the education system was based in Cambridge there were several challenges for me to get used to having some insufficient results. Question types were strange and answering them in English was agonizing. My results were falling consecutively. Then one day, an international physics teacher arrived. He was Kakai Wasula which then became one of my best friends who is always with me when I feel depressed. The main point in which he helped me was changing my mind about failure. Before his advice, whenever I get low results, I used to get depressed instead of learning from my mistakes. However, after a talk with him, I changed up my mind. After that time, I started looking at my mistakes from the bright side. Instead of being upset, I tried to master the questions that I had made mistakes. Then my results started to show an increase in my worldview. He has been telling me that failing is part of success and plays a good role in life. This golden phrase was my motto if I do something wrong. After a while, there was a big test at school and all the students were stressed because it was the Educational Agency of Uzbekistan itself taking it. The test was the most serious one, as its results play a vital role in my graduation marks. I went to Kakai and asked for some advice. He repeated his words: “Failure is the part of success; it is what you are going to learn tomorrow and don't forget, you are not going to fail. There is something inside you telling you that you can achieve your target. I believe!” I was so proud. Maybe Kakai was lying – there was nothing inside me shining so bright. But, after his motivations, there was a fire burning inside my heart and its sparkles were illustrated by my eyes. That was the time when I learned to be motivated and unstressful. Because I experienced how both ways, being stressed and in opposite being motivated, might have an effect on future progress. Whenever I believed myself and did the test I got high results. With these thoughts in mind, I went to the hall, where all the students were waiting for their papers to arrive. I preferred to sit in front of the camera, while the rest were arguing to sit at the backside. It was lovely to believe in yourself and to know that at least a person believes in you. When the papers arrived, I happily turned the page and saw an easy problem there. I was passionate to finish the test with the best result and justify the confidence of all who believed in me. The test was over and the results were out. I started to search for my name from the bottom so my happiness will be greater if I find myself at the top. There my name was! At the top of the page! Just as Kakai told me, failures made me stronger than before. It was part of my success. From that time on, I get happy when I face some challenges or failures that now I can learn something new.

The gringa had lived in the Colonia San Rafael neighborhood of San Miguel de Allende, Mexico for over thirteen years, gringa being the local word for an American woman living in Mexico. The old Mexican man with a limp reminiscent of Charlie Chaplin's "Tramp" had lived in the neighborhood too, probably his entire life. The two passed each other many times walking down the hill, and every time the old man saw the woman, he said to her in English that one word that he apparently knew: "mo-nay." Time after time, the same word, "mo-nay." She grew annoyed with him, thinking, "Is that how he sees me? As only a source of money?" It isn't that she never gave to people in need -- she did, often generously, whatever she could. It's just that his one word was so constant and such a habit that it really got on her nerves. Not wanting to encourage him, she either ignored him or said, "No no tengo nada ahorita." “I don't have anything right now.” And walked on quickly. This went on literally for years. At times it almost seemed like a joke between them, him saying "Mo-nay" and she saying, "Nope, nada." And then one blinding hot day, the sunlight bouncing off of everything so much that your eyes hurt, he said something different. "Mo-nay. Hun-gray." She stopped and looked at him, as if for the first time. It had never occurred to her that perhaps he actually was hungry. She felt ashamed, and she took him over to the nearest tienda and asked him what he wanted to buy. His needs were simple: a bolillo--a small loaf of white bread--and a Coke. She bought them and gave him twenty pesos for a refresco later. And she asked his name. "Rubén," he said. "Mucho gusto, señor Rubén. Nice to meet you. Soy Frances," said she. After that, their relationship was different. He no longer was some needy old man, he was Rubén. Sometimes when he saw her, he still said, "Mo-nay" but it was different now that she knew his name and so if she had a few pesos with her, she gave them to him with a smile. And often, before leaving the house, she remembered to think of him and would grab a couple of coins in case she saw him. Sometimes, when he saw her, he didn't ask for money, but asked, in a neighborly way, "A dónde vas? Where are you going?" Or, "¿Acabas de volver del Centro? Did you just get back from town?" And she would talk to him for a few minutes. One day he was walking down the hill with his customary limp that spoke of hip problems, and she said, "¿Adónde va, señor Rubén?" "Where are you going?" And he said, "Estoy caminando para hacer ejercicio y conocer a mis amigos.” “I'm walking for exercise and to meet my friends." And she thought, "Wow, he knows he needs to move his body and he needs to socialize." She thought about this unexpected friendship that they had, and what a gift it was that his presence in her life had helped her shift her perspective from seeing him as someone who was needy to someone who was her neighbor, living life in his way, making the best of his circumstances, just as she was. She realized that he had caused her to confront her own unconscious bias. This was a big step, and she wanted to memorialize it by having a selfie with him. One day he was walking up the hill at the same time she was. "Would it be okay to take a photo with you, señor Rubén?" she asked him in Spanish. He said yes right away. Halfway up the hill, they stopped and looked at the camera. She was wearing her pandemic mask; he was maskless and wearing his battered hat. She stood a little back from him to try to keep "safe social distance." The birds were singing in the tree behind them and she felt happy for this moment. It felt to her like an achievement. There's still a long way to go; no doubt there are many more unconscious biases in my mind and heart. But I, the gringa in question, will always remember Rubén and the gift he brought me. The cost of a few bolillos and some Cokes is a very small price to pay.

The start of the pandemic was shocking for me as was standing in front of the very essential level up of my life - I was applying to higher education. Let me begin with something good. I had already reviewed my IELTS certification on March 6, before everywhere was closed for quarantine starting from March 15, 2020. That was the only achievement that got me into an American university. But what about finishing compulsory education? The quality of education is seriously dropped, and many of us missed our additional lessons for preparation because walking outside while quarantine costed rocket high. One of the pity things for me was that I and all of my friends couldn't have the graduation ceremony and party that we expected to be unforgettable memories. Overall, no high school or lyceum graduate couldn't experience it in Uzbekistan. Whenever we visit our school or lyceum in May for graduation ceremonies and look at graduates we feel like: "Yeah, they're having it". The worst feeling ever. We are seven in my family. My grandparents are over 80 and my parents are also quite old. I have a brother and a sister who are schoolers. Covid hit us significantly as we experienced it multiple times during the period. My father had a very severe type. He managed to get well at home because we were sure there weren't enough places at Covid treating centers. After him, I. High temperatures were a real burden for me and antibiotics were too difficult to come over for my stomach. However, thank God, other members of the family felt Covid like simple flu and just several doses of treatment immediately got them on their feet. One of the bitter truths about the family I realized during the pandemic is that too much family time is harmful to the inter-family relationship. I wanted to run away somehow. At the times when everyone worked and studied far from home, at the end of the day we enjoyed the family gathering as we missed each other. But in quarantine, we were fed up with each other. One interesting fact, the number of divorces increased during the quarantine in my country. I live in the countryside, almost 2 hours from the city center and during the pandemic our town became dead. Not a single body was outside, most of the shops were closed, and the hospital which is at the end of our street was supervised by military forces. Every 2-3 hours there were military cars along the street informing us not to go out at certain hours of the day and how to take measures and behave while we are outside. It was scary that it felt like a commendation regime in war periods. I was seventeen and this environment caused me to experience severe depression without any hope for my bright future and online lessons caused my eyes side to drop, and gave me early back, and heart pains. It felt like my body got older by 10 years but in front of my eyes, time barely passed. About after 6 months, when quarantine rules pretty eased down and we were finally allowed to visit the university, I felt some significant changes in my receptor organs - my tongue and nose. Things start to taste differently and smells just turned off. I was eating food like from another planet and for additional five or six months, I missed the real taste of meat and fried potatoes. Still, I start recognizing the smell two or three times slower than normal people, and eggs, greens, and cucumbers still taste different than it was before the pandemic. Starting face-to-face studies and communication with peers was very precious for me. However, there were sad stories too. Two of my peers who had been accepted to Japanese and Korean universities couldn't get there due to quarantine in both countries. Moreover, some girls told me that they lost loved ones and even family members during the pandemic. After, hearing them I felt grateful for all I have almost haven't changed during the pandemic. Bonus sad story by me: my family won the Green Card DV-2020 program but due to quarantine our visas expired. Now, everything we spent getting into the US is just burned, nothing left. Yes, now everything is just passed away and all we have now is mostly memories and unforgettable life lessons. So, what I learned from the pandemic is very precious to me. Firstly, I started to appreciate the freedom that is given to me and learned to experience more gratefulness. It wasn't all about the feelings, too. My hard skills also improved even though I have learned them online. That might be too much, so let me conclude. The world is not sure if Covid-19 is just spread by bats or if it was an unfinished biological weapon, one thing is obvious we are just killing ourselves and slowing down our evolution. Curiosity kills the cat, I hope we won't appear in the place of that cat again.

Quarantine. Of course, this word is more frightening and frightening than any other scary word. Because all people have experienced this scourge - quarantine. The plague of Covid-19 fell on the heads of every state and every nation. Because of this contagious disease, all people have seen strange events called quarantine, isolation. Everyone realized that these things were a catastrophe that would keep a person in and out of the house, and they experienced this catastrophe in their own lives. Quarantine also locked up all the powerful, all-powerful people in their homes. This was to counteract the spread and spread of Covid-19 disease. Due to the pandemic, the President and the Cabinet of Ministers passed a law to quarantine and isolate everyone, so that no one should leave their homes unless necessary. All workplaces, companies, industries, studies, schools, public and private affairs, universities, colleges and all other workplaces were suspended. The readings were conducted online. only state military bodies, doctors in the field of medicine, hospitals, pharmacies were able to operate. It was as if life had come to a standstill. Because not all places work, people do not go out on the streets, busy roads have become deserted roads. Even the calves did not work for some time. Everyone was confused and scared. Various quarantine and disease prevention instructions were given on television and radio. As a result of the shutdown of all businesses and the closure of markets, people began to face difficulties. Many people died of the disease. Many began to mourn the loss of a loved one in their home. And this thing was growing day by day. In particular, a close relative of our family also died due to Covid-19. This thing was very sad for all of us. Losing one of our closest people was hard for all of us. even now when I think of that man, tears come to my eyes. Because that person was also a very close friend to me. We walked around with him, in short, we always had fun with him. Unfortunately, the disease caused the death of such a wonderful man. Like all people, my family and I were quarantined. Our family consists of 5 people. There are also benefits to quarantine. Thanks to quarantine, we all sat at home together in the arms of our family, doing different things. My father also stayed at home because the work centers were temporarily closed due to quarantine. Since they had a lot of free time, they did the housework with us. We cleaned the houses, planted flowers in the orchards, plowed the soil, and did all the other work. One day I went out and saw that my father had stopped a car carrying an oven on the road and bought an oven. It was one of the most necessary things to bake for the bread. We, as 3 people, slowly put the oven on top of 3 pieces of meat. Because a single wrong move could have caused the oven to break after class. Because the tandoor is a quick-breaking thing that can be done very carefully. The reason is that the tandoor is a cylindrical body made of a mixture of water, soil, and sheep's wool, which is baked over a long period of time and dried in the sun. Then one question came to our minds. --"How do we set it up?" The reason was that even the masters did not go out to work because of the nature. It was then that I remembered my father's childhood. Because my father grew up in the village as a child, he built a tandoor at that time. Remembering the cooking methods of that time, my father and I worked for exactly 4 and a half hours and set up the oven. In addition, my dad and I poured cement around the flower garden outside our house. This made our outside beautiful. Yes quarantine has also shown us that it has its advantages. We lived in the arms of our family, in short we did all the housework. Although we took advantage of so many good aspects of proper quarantine, we also faced challenges. For example, because of quarantine, we were forced to ride bicycles because we were not allowed to drive on the street. Imagine riding a bike for more than 25 miles. Wonderful. We also went home on a bike ride over it with so many things after picking up what we needed from the market. First of all, thanks to quarantine, I realized how precious life is. Because no matter how good your home is, I felt that being able to walk freely on the streets, freedom, the continuation of life, the crowds of people outside and the cars, were all valuable. Man cannot live without such people, without interesting daily events. Communicating with the people around us, working as usual, going to our office to work on our daily work, and working harder for our own development; engaging in activities such as chatting with neighbors, friends, relatives, and loved ones gives a person pleasure, further increasing his desire to live life. Regardless of quarantine, a person should enjoy his environment and life!

Through the years, my sons teased me about my good posture and how, while they were growing, I wouldn't tolerate slouching. “Mom's fault,” I'd say with a smile. Although no genius, as my sons often point out, they are also just as quick to comment on how much I do know. They call me a walking encyclopedia of nonsensical trivia. Once again, I shrug and say, Mom's fault.” While my mom was never what was considered a strict disciplinarian, when it came to schoolwork, she was tough. I remember as soon as I could talk, she'd drill me every me every Saturday morning. Using two pages at a time of the dictionary, she would read each word, emphasizing on its pronunciation, encouraging me to try and spell it correctly. Back then, luckily, the dictionaries were small. Mom kept track of the words I misspelled in order for me to study them for the following Saturday. By the time I reached Kindergarten, I found it easy to read whole sentences. Soon, my “home education” expanded adding Math to my list of things to learn. After my spelling and reading lessons, Mom gave me wo sheets of paper with arithmetic problems to solve. Mom never confined her idea of teaching to just schoolwork. She believed in a healthy mind and healthy body. While I'd be pouring over homework, if Mom saw me slouching, she'd quietly walk behind me and gently t ouch my back. With one finger. Without one word spoken, I would immediately straighten to a more proper position. For about five minutes a day, three times each week, I would have to stand with my back against the wall. “Touch your heels to the wall. Now, your butt! Head up and back; shoulders back! Stomach in!” I know, I know. She sounded like a drill sergeant, but it kept my posture intact and my spine straight. Most of my friends learned to cook while their moms stood at their sides verbally instructing their every move. Mom's method differed completely. Handing me a recipe, she'd back away. Her reason was simple. Anyone can mimic; anyone can follow step-by-step instructions as each is given. It's more important to read and comprehend. As she often said, “Following a receipt teaches you to learn to follow any instructions.” However, she remained in the kitchen with me – just in case. Mom believed in teaching by example, not by using a bunch of words. Too often, my friends heard their moms say. “Do as I say, not as I do.” Never once did I hear that phrase from my mom. I also never heard the more familiar, “Because I said so.” Mom would often take me for long walks in the park, weather permitting. At times, we'd go for a train ride to the local zoo or museum. Once a month from June to September, mom and dad would pack a lunch and we would head to the nearby lake for a picnic. In addition to schoolwork, mom taught me to appreciate the beauty of a flower, the wonder of a rainbow, and the compassion needed for those less fortunate (like the WWII Veteran who sat legless on the street corner begging for a few cents to help him get by. Even tough money was tight, we never passed him by without Mom dropping a few cents in his little tin cup. She also taught me that although life is not perfect, we must strive for that goal and not be disappointed if we fail. Mom taught me the appreciation of demanding work. “After all,” she said, “the harder you work the more you appreciate the end result. If things came too easily, we would take those things for granted.” Yes, mom taught me many things: reading, spelling, love, and life. Now, here I am in my seventies. Mom passed away a number of years ago but even at my age, I am in good health. I still sit properly, and my back is straight. While I never went to college (as I said money was tight), my knowledge and education about what matters is exemplary. I am not afraid to tackle new projects and while I strive to succeed, I don't sulk if I fail. I just change my attitude and try again. My sons now, are grown with families of their own and emulate Mom's parenting as much as possible. I insisted on rearing my children the way Mom reared me, with compassion, understanding right from wrong, a thirst of knowledge, and fun in doing everything. I have been a good mother and teacher to my sons (they told me to say that), and I can see what wonderful husbands and fathers they are in every way (their wives tole me to say that!). Mom would be so proud of them. The reason for our successes in maintaining such happy homes, I feel is simple. It's Mom's Fault.

When the World Stopped My toes gripped the mat as my palms spread and pressed downward…downward dog. I breathed deeply and tried to slow my racing mind. I reminded myself that this was my time-my moment in a day of the never-ending carousel of days punctuated by masks, social distancing and an increasingly violent news cycle. I had nowhere to go and nowhere to be regardless of the yoga. Covid and its threat was enveloping our country, and my familiar yoga studio was shuttered. So, I remained on my yoga mat surrounded by disinterested teens and a curious dog as my virtual yoga class continued on the screen. My twice daily at home practice bookended a monotonous workday of never-ending phone calls and ceaseless rejection- 'No, we are trying to keep our business afloat not spend 100K on software." Even I understood how absurd my job was at that moment. But I persisted until the day ended when I could escape to my mat and exhale all the negativity from my "dream job" and find my center-my breath. People think yoga is about the achievement of the pose, but the true focus of yoga is the breath. No pose is possible without mastering your breath. You breathe to calm the mind, you breath to set an intention, and you breathe to deepen your stretch into a pose. Ujjayi Pranayama or Victorious Breath is created by restricting your breath in the back of the throat inviting a deeper connection to those practicing around you- even those on the other side of a computer screen. More important, it invites you to a deeper connection with your inner self. Without Ujjayi Pranayama, yoga is just stretching and without a deep connection to your inner self, you're just existing. For me, the understanding of breath was the start. In fact, the more I practiced the sound of the ocean in my throat, the more I found myself moving in an inhale/exhale motion through once mindless tasks chasing the sense of calm and focus that I could only find on my mat or at a keyboard creating. Who Did I Think I Was? As quarantine persisted with more uncertainty, yoga was where I found my solace and calm. It was during this time that I allowed myself to imagine a life where I was would be free to refocus on the creative callings that stirred within me. It seems yoga was awakening not just long ignored muscles, but my desire to claim the life I craved. With this in mind, I explored the idea of a yoga certification. What would that look like particularly in the post-Covid world? How would I achieve it? And most important, who did I think I was anyway? All these answers would come in the most likely place-my yoga mat.However, did teaching yoga align into my higher purpose like finishing my second novel? I was working in software sales because I liked it. No-that's a lie. I was working in sales because I wanted to make a lot of money. I looked to some magical income number that would allow me to escape the corporate world to inspire others with my writing and teach yoga. I had resigned myself to sales for safety. After all, who was I to decide that I would embrace my talents. So, I chose misery-at my job (it was never about the job), my co-workers (it was never about them), and my lack of process on elusive goals (guess what-the goals weren't the problem either). I was my own worst problem. I was the person in my own way. My mind finally realized that there was only one way, and I already had the answers. The second that I merely dipped my toe in the direction of my dreams, a door opened immediately. I would waffle for a few more weeks before taking a step and walking through the door completely and shutting it on my former career behind me. Brave New World Yoga…it saved me and continues to save me every day. My body releases and relaxes as I flow through the movements and center my mind and breath. I still strive to shut out the day-the deadlines, the to-dos, and the nagging feeling in my cavegirl mind as I lay in shavansa that I am cheating on my productive self. But once I let go and give in, an organic peace of mind centers and focuses me for whatever might lie ahead. Yoga created the understanding in me that life is not the work we do but the space we inhabit every day. Understanding this allowed me to reconcile that my desires in life from writing my next novel to sharing the transformative path of yoga with others would continue to crowd my space unless I took a leap and let go. Just as in yoga, I had to let go of the ideas and thoughts threatening to crowd my head. I had to finally acknowledge that I knew exactly who I was and that my corporate journey needed to end. As I deepen my yoga practice, the rest of my life aligns to answer the call. I am able to take this time of great uncertainty and breathe unapologetic certainty into my mind, my heart and my soul. Yoga reveals to me that I must let my mind unravel to possibility instead of wrapping my mind around opportunities not meant for me.

My first reaction to the pandemic on March 12, 2020--after securing toilet paper and hand sanitizer--was to help my family and the nonprofits I was working with weather the storm. “It's only for two weeks,” everyone said. “It's going to be so much longer than that,” I said. “And, the effects will last for years.” Turns out, the pandemic itself was going to last for years. By nature, I'm a planner. I like to have a strategy. Even if crazy things happen, if you have a plan, you can pivot. The early days of the pandemic drove me to my computer. I made lists. I'm a big list-maker. I already had a solid plan in place for the nonprofits before the pandemic hit, so I wasn't worried about that. If they stayed the course and remained proactive, they would be fine. Becoming reactive would have been a disaster. At home, my parents had recently moved in with me after selling their house. They have never been worriers or list makers or planners. While my kitchen pantry upstairs was prepped with at least two weeks of food that we could survive on, theirs was bare. Up until COVID-19, my prepping was in anticipation of a blizzard or power outage, not a global pandemic. Did my parents have canned goods? No. They picked up fast food or did take out every day for nearly every meal. Did they have a supply of toilet paper and paper towels? No. Were they worried? No. I was. At my computer, I had lists of what we needed to do to get ahead of this crisis. I had never pre-ordered and picked up groceries before but in our new contactless world, it was heaven-sent. Of course, I went right to Amazon to order masks, gloves, disinfectant, and later, when I became really COVID-savvy, a digital, no contact thermometer and a pulse oximeter. And then, the world froze. No one was going in to work anymore. The stores were empty and the shelves were bare. I no longer had to think of excuses to get out of my over-committed weekends. Suddenly, there were no plans. I had everything I needed. My lovable dog, Toby, was by my side every day. I saw my masked niece and family in socially distanced gatherings from ten feet away in driveways and on decks. My friends and I Zoomed. My neighbors group texted and did porch drop-offs of freshly baked bread and goodies. I signed up for online yoga, painting classes, interesting virtual tours of fascinating places in the world, read books, cleaned my house, and watched YouTube videos on how to cut my own hair, which was not my best idea. I used to cherish days when I didn't have to drive to work, saving me sometimes two or more hours of commute time. I always wondered what I would do with extra time. Would I exercise and eat right? (The answer to that is a resounding “no”.) Writing has always been something I've enjoyed. Sometimes, if something bad happened in my life, I would imagine a story inspired by the true events. Only, I'd make it twisty. If someone was a jerk to me, well a character inspired by that person might find themselves killed off in the story, involved in a ridiculous crime, or on the receiving end of sweet karma. Or I would see something happen in real life--maybe a near-miss car accident, or someone buying a winning lottery ticket after they changed places in line, or a stray cat whose eyes told me that he had an interesting story--and I would imagine and wonder “what would happen if” and then I'd write a story about it. I never did anything with the stories and most times they went unfinished. Just the act of writing was therapeutic. I'd always said that if I had the time, I would write. Not just for work, but for fun. Write just for me. Suddenly, the pandemic gave me time--all the time in the world. I was out of excuses. So I started to write. I found a short story contest to enter. Normally, I'm a pretty competitive person. I like to win. But in this case, I was well aware that I was a novice. Knowing this was my first try, I didn't have my usual high expectations or hopes of winning. I was looking at it as a learning experience. I would see if there was any feedback--if they said, “Don't give up your day job” or “Nice effort, try again.” And then came the phone call. My story was chosen for publication in an anthology. It didn't win one of the cash prizes or earn a judges' award, but that was alright. I was going to be a published author! I know I will continue working in the nonprofit field because, after thirty years, it's part of who I am. But now, part of me is an author too. I have a plan. I can see myself, in my retirement years, sitting at my antique desk in front of a big window overlooking the ocean or a tranquil lake with a beautiful sunset in the distance writing--who knows maybe even finishing a book. But I'll be doing the thing I didn't know I could do until the world temporarily closed.

Lockdown. Here's a word that we used to associate with dictatorship, war, or, in my case, George Orwell's 1984. For a young adult, it seemed unimaginable that I would ever experience times of fear, isolation, and a skyrocketing death rate. It was even more unthinkable that we could get something out of it. Back in March, 2020, staying at home was a chance to recover from life's crazy speed. That is, for most people. Me? I had already been working at home for almost four months as an English teacher for online students in Brazil. There was little change in my routine – I was mostly sorry I couldn't go to the gym, cause I'm an endorphin junky. Of course, we all thought quarantine wasn't going to last. It then became clear we had better get used to Zoom meetings, face-masks, or, in my case, keeping a distance from my family (who wasn't following all the guidelines as strictly as I was – still am). Like all newly bakers, DIYers, yogis, I too put my energy into one task: starting my writing career. With a zillion unfinished stories on my computer and a zillion more in my head, I didn't know where to begin. After all, I was exhausted from all the jobs I had taken thinking they would lead me somewhere, when in fact they were dragging me further from my writing goals. Luckily, I received an email announcing a writing contest for eBooks. And I thought “this is it!” (in reality, I was probably thinking, “why not?”). I only had a couple of months to do what most writers take years to accomplish: finish a story and publish it. After selecting one short-story that wasn't so bad and kind of had an ending, I rewrote it, revised it, then turned it into a great eBook (with the help of my uncle to design the cover). Basically, I was the writer, agent, editor, launch team of my first book. When I sent a message to my mom, with a link for purchasing her daughter's first published book, she had to call me to make sure she got it right: “What is that link you sent me? Is that a book? Your book? How did you do it?” And I was thrilled to have finally done it! After all, I had been dreaming of this feat ever since I drew/wrote a book about a mermaid when I was seven. As a perfectionist, though, I wanted to go further. My self-published, barely revised book couldn't be my only one. That's when I decided to really pursue my career as an author (at last, I can call myself that). So I quit one of my jobs (the one as an English teacher) and started writing a new novel in 2021 – its first draft is already complete, and I'm currently working on editing it (this time, to send to a literary agent). Also, I knew that, as amazing as that eBook was (a true accomplishment for the little time that I had), I needed lots of help on how to write mesmerizing stories, pitch them for agents, build my online platform (which I'm still working on, btw), promote my future books… So, I took some free classes (remember, I quit my job) and sent my draft to a friend who reads the same kind of genre to get some feedback. What I've learned so far from this process? That it only takes a crazy pandemic to make people rethink their life choices and pursue their dreams. Kidding. Sort of. I did learn that there are many master classes, webinars, blog posts, and guides that really are helpful to writers who want to focus on this part of their lives without spending any (or little) money. So let's take those Covid-19 lemons and make some lemonade!