Year of the Rat

It's Chinese new year; we're going from the year of the pig to the year of the rat. I'm nearly 60, and a metallic rat, as was Shakespeare. Legend has it that when the Emperor wanted to start the zodiac he called animals to be in it. The rat was first there. Although she was a lowly animal, the Emperor rewarded her initiative and gave her first place. Rats are supposedly shrewd and sociable. As one, I can spot another. Twelve years ago, a Chinese boarder in my house told me we are supposed to wear red during the year for luck. Hopefully rat fortune will prevail while I finish my house.
I drive up to Leithfield to look for party paraphenalia. I'm having a combined 60th with three Convergence friends, John, Will and Clive, and as I'm the decoration queen, I need to live up to decoration expectations. I literally have stuff everywhere so locating party stuff is a stab in the dark. On top of that, a well established habit of leaving things behind is getting worse. I'm constantly toting a day's worth of stuff in numerous bags and throwing things in the Suzuki when I leave Cashmere. Although most of what I leave behind comes back, retrieving it is a hassle and disconcerting. Owning too much is a modern western malaise. We talk constantly about decluttering and minimising. Fewer possessions for clearer minds. My current lifestyle adds constant movement. I'm dreaming of order, sitting still, a quieter mind. In my mind's eye I picture myself sitting in a rocking chair sipping a pinot noir on the verandah. Today I've settle for a cup of tea in the car.