A Familiar Ritual

I stood in my small kitchen, carefully arranging the baked bacon slices that I had prepared with care. The multigrain bread was toasted just enough to brown and lightly coated with a smooth white spread, then layered with fresh, crisp lettuce and tomatoes sliced lengthwise—my latest quiet challenge to the customary round slice.

As I assembled the sandwich, memories of long ago flooded my mind. We had both loved BLTs. Bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches were a favorite late night, last stop before heading home after a Friday night at the club – a ritual that many female BFFs enjoy.

The evening would be discussed and reviewed with questions and sometimes answers regarding the men encountered dissected and bemoaned. The entertainment that night and how many upside-down glasses left on the bar (drinks paid for but not consumed). All while giggling, waiting patiently for the super sandwich, an alternate to the cheeseburger that had become passe as a late-night cover to the alcoholic binge previously enjoyed. Fries and a Diet Pepsi closed the deal for both of us.

Remembering Her Style

The memories returned in colors, aromas, and a sense of place, with her beauty at their center. As we waited for our order her lovely hands nails polished a flaming red, colorfully remembered as she carefully reapplied the red lipstick to her perfect lips knowing it would smear again as we ate the beloved sandwich. This was the crowning point to the end of a work week ritual.

She was like that: always striving for perfection and expecting it of others. The fashionista of fashionistas, she wanted others to meet her standards and often spoke of how she would redress them.

At Her Bedside

I wondered what she would say about the pink bed robe and colorful headscarf she now wore as she lay in her hospital bed. Her words wandered without making sense as she spoke about our church and its members. She talked about the Las Vegas catering business she was about to launch—a five-year obligation that, she said, required careful thought about her return to the Bay Area.

When I told her caretaker that she wanted to go to the bathroom and needed his help, he circled a finger beside his head to signal that she was confused. He whispered that she could not walk and was wearing a diaper. “Just go on; it’s alright,” he said softly to her. I knew she would not do as he asked while I was there.

A Small Comfort

I left soon afterward, leaving the socks I had carefully chosen to keep her comfortable in bed and warm whenever she needed them on her journey toward transition. I wondered if she recognized me? Had she pretended-she was good at that? Or did she know that we were once close and had enjoyed late night BLTs together?

Loss and Regret

As I finished preparation of the memory now a breakfast sandwich and sat with a cup of tea, thoughts of the previous years of estrangement engulfed me in remembrance. How, when and where are questions without answers?

As with my encounter with the lemon tree, a BLT sandwich flooded my thoughts with memories of loss and regret. Regret for what might have been and the reality of what is.

In aging I’ve found that regret and loss are both emotionally difficult as well as being physically draining. Living in a world that was once relatively comfortable versus a new one of daily need and challenges for survival overwhelming one’s spirit as a roaring life-changing 40-foot wave of uncontrollable circumstances hurdles and crashes onto you the swimmer in helpless effort against Poseidon’s ruthless power.  You the swimmer stand helpless soaking wet in the sun as all of life’s carefully established protective rails melt into the seemingly starved soil and scorched earth of a planned life turns into something else. How does one ask for help of family and friends as the crickets of soundlessness loudly profess that you are alone?  The eye of the beholder watches as you stumble drunkenly from pillar to post attempting to survive the emptiness and heartbreak of loss and regret.

Being forced by the universe to live in another life that looks dimly like the former one; the loss of a mother, father, sibling, close friend, or perhaps even worse, a husband or wife of years built on love and respect leaves an empty hole in one’s heart that can be devastating.  And believe me, as one who has experienced it, financial loss may create results that are similar yet different in that loss here may mean an entirely new life of need toward stamina and survival. Although in financial loss the regret of past decisions and unintended error can deepen the guilt in regretted wishful dreams of a do-over. When the challenge to one’s status leads to regret and shame the eye of the beholder can wilt the heart and move the conversation into a cavern echoing a hollow what-if?

I was blessed with a wonderful experience that for me marked a full circle moment in my life. I have always had an unexplainable connection and interest in Greek mythology. When my sons were young, the three of us went to movies on the weekend and Jason and the Argonauts directed by Don Chaffy (1963) was one of our favorites. Ray Harryhausen’s genius in animation design of mythical heroes and monsters, as well as the wonderous strength of Jason, Hercules and the other Greek heroes and villains were brought to the screen in magnificent color.  Before our eyes Mr. Harryhausen’s brilliance brought to the screen the bedtime stories that I read to them – the words became action and color arousing even more excitement in three pairs of eyes. A seven year- and four-year-old with a just beyond mid-twenties mother whose interest in the mythology of the gods of Olympus passed on to her children in real time.

This past week my sons treated me to this full circle experience. The two of them invited me and escorted me to see Christopher Nolan’s “The Odyssey” in IMAX 70mm. It was an experience I will never forget. Me sitting between my two sons in the magnificent Regal theater in Dublin, CA (one of three theaters in the greater Bay Area screening the film in the format that Mr. Nolan shot the film). I sat mesmerized for three hours as I sipped on the Moscow Mule ((Vodka, ginger beer and mint leaf) they brought to me from the theater’s full-service bar. Me, my sons, the movie as I experienced old age pleasure.

D, Me and T in the afterglow of The Odyssey

It wasn’t an easy date night to plan. I rode BART from Antioch, CA to Bay Fair (San Leandro), to meet my youngest after his workday. The two of us drove to Lodi, CA to meet my oldest son who had driven from Elk Grove (Sacramento, CA) to meet us.  The three of us, with me in the back seat for comfort, drove back to Dublin to the luxury Regal theater for the 10:40 PM showing of the movie. It was worth every mile.

The three of us – no spouses, grandchildren or great grandchildren watched in awe as the two senior citizen men high-fived each other at various times during an exciting scene or another throughout Mr. Nolan’s version of Homer’s epic poem and classic.

The fully enjoyed, easy thrill of the ride home. The three of us rode back to Lodi fully reliving and discussing the film. Then two of us from Lodi to Antioch with safety check calls during the early morning hours as each car separately arrived home. But more exciting, the three-way phone calls the day after fully connecting and fully loving. The joy in the photos of the three of us in the theater will remain forever indelibly etched in my memory. My sons honored me with long past experiences brought forth into the present as fond remembrance relived.

Lesson learned: In raising my children, I did somethings right. Both my sons learned to read (before entering school) during my reading those bedtime stories of heroes and heroines. Their eyes, big and wonderous, followed my fingers and voice as I relived my interest in Greek mythology. Zeus and his cronies painted an exciting backdrop of adventure as well as historical reference in the classics that resound today bringing past to present in our shared enduring love of Greek mythology.

Facing Age and Regret

Aging and regret have become daily companions. I find it difficult to understand those who wish to live forever, even as I continue to pray each day for good health and sound mind. Still, I cannot ignore the steady changes in my body. It is slowly becoming something unfamiliar—less aligned with the strength, ease, and sense well-being I once expected it to hold. A mirrored glimpse of my face or a slight turn of the arms or hands show lines, wrinkles and veins that are unfamiliar to the physical person that I once was.  Do I or would I, if I could, invest in the surgeries and time to erase (or almost erase) the ravages of time on the body coupled with the every-day stress living forever be worth it?  My humble answer is a resounding “no”.

Facing Regret

I carry many regrets and I review them much too often. My mistakes have been many. Still, I know I did my best with what I understood at the time. At times, I see questions in the eyes of family and friends—questions regarding what happened to the life they once imagined for me. The path they expected, and perhaps the one I expected for myself, did not unfold as planned. Whether by the universe, by God’s plan, or by forces I still do not fully understand, my life became something different from what I and those around me once expected. The importance of what my mother called “standing tall” is what is needed now in facing regret. How do I stand tall now that it’s called upon? Can one still recover at an aged life? Can one change the looks in other’s eyes? Can one face regret and still stand tall?  That’s the question and answer at once.

Facing Age Old Memories

 I believe the answer may be to live one’s later years with gusto and love. The only way to change how others look at you is to shape the way you see yourself. Others may judge, but they cannot control how you feel about who you are. This idea can be difficult to accept. Recently, a gathering at the lovely home of someone from my church brought back memories of my own beautiful home and reminded me how deeply I miss it. A simple trip to the bathroom awakened those memories. The room was beautiful, filled with the soft scent of lilac and decorated with framed pictures of flowers and perfume bottles. Its details carried me back to the pictures, fragrances, and quiet comforts of my own remembered home. I pulled myself together as I exited the room with no regret and compliment my hostess with a true smile regarding the room and its pleasantness. Then reconnecting with my small group as we proceeded to discuss the subject of the meeting “Forgiveness.”

Perhaps more than any advice regarding aging is this one: Listen to your body. Your body will tell you what it needs. In the beginning, things your body doesn’t like will be revealed in aches and pain. Sometimes it’s indigestion or a stiffness. Sometimes it’s a cough or sneeze. Sometimes a headache, unexpected swelling or toothache.  Or maybe an unexpected showing of blood from body parts that should not show such.

 Years ago, I signed up for an Ikebana class, which teaches Japanese flower arrangement. It was during a time when my sons were old enough to care for themselves in the evenings and I have always loved to learn something interesting (in fact I’m presently looking for an interesting class or hobby for my wondering mind). At that time, I had not convinced myself to spend my wondering mind on my education toward a master’s degree. While I explored various classes such as flower arrangement, basket weaving, learning to speak Spanish (I wish I had continued in that effort), it was Ikebana that truly captivated my attention. It seemed to offer a unique perspective on beauty and patience. My teacher, a softspoken Japanese lady would always advise the students as she worked magic with the flowers, leaves, bark, rocks and pebbles “they will tell you what they want in arrangement. Just listen and watch the beauty they will offer to you if you are patient and are open to the language they will expose to you. Over time, I realized that her words applied not only to flower arrangement, but to life itself – patience and openness can reveal unexpected beauty and even warning in everyday moments.

 I noticed that my plants and flowers whether growing from soil or placed in a vase provided beauty when the concepts of Ikebana were followed and I listened by observation. Flowers and plants reach for the sun and only require water and soil their substance in life. Sometimes a little additional source of food is required. However, for the most part, they will grow and flourish with little additional care.

I have used that lesson in regard to my body. I’ve not perfected this goal as yet. However, remembering the Ikebana experience taught me the importance of mindful eating, a lesson I continue to strive for despite the habits formed in my youth. Growing up with three younger brothers, dinner was a lively competition—laughter mixed with the clatter of plates as we rushed to finish the first piece of chicken, driven by the excitement and anxiety of missing out on the coveted few pieces available for a second helping. The games at the dinner table left me with the habit of eating much too quickly, which I believe contributed to digestive issues that have lingered throughout my 85 years. Even after spending the last fifty-plus years attempting to slow down (I guess I’m a slow learner) to savor and truly chew my food, those childhood patterns remain difficult to fully undo. Still, I keep trying, remembering the lessons from those noisy, joyful dinners and the value of truly listening to what my body needs. The burp, the uncomfortable feeling, the stomach bloating are the remaining signs that I sometimes remain in childhood mode when eating as I recognize too late that I’ve filled my plate too full at a buffet or a friend’s home where the food is serve-yourself. Or when I am especially hungry after a day of appointments or busyness.

Sigmond Frued’s theory that “we are not in control of our own minds” seems to continue to work on me regarding food. Like any addiction, I continue to be aware that I have a weakness. All the Pepto Bismal and digestive aids could be perhaps totally eliminated if I could follow what I know is true about my approach to eating food.

Listening to your body applies to all aspects of being a keeping in good health. Between the good doctors in our lives and technology such as AI, we can get and research answers to some or all of the mishaps of growing older. I use both for my issues. And I have body issues as I grow older. Even as I am considered relatively healthy for my age group. My eyes, my hearing, the wrinkles, the arthritis in my left knee and other evolving issues I’m combating with Tai Chi, bowling, and my favorite, walking. I also pay attention to my diet and challenge both my mind and body to stay active. By keeping my yearly check-ups and remaining aware of what my body tells me, I strive to move in a positive direction.”

As well as watching what and how I eat as well as challenging my mind and body to keep going in a positive direction and being aware of what each is telling me. I am reminded that each flower in Ikebana is carefully placed to reveal its unique beauty for the beauty of the full arrangement.  Each stage of aging brings new facets to appreciate our own unique beauty in health if we listen to our bodies.

The Loss of Innocence

In an irrepressible daze, she quietly slipped from her bedroom window into the star filled night in silence. Uncaring of the darkness, drawn by the mesmerizing, sweet, perfumed sound filling her nostrils drawing her beyond discipline with complete abandon, the sound of his guitar.  It was rich and fragrant, flowing into her being filling her with longing, wanting, needing the promised intimacy that carried her toward the throbbing vibration. She needed to become one with the sound, dance in its fragrance, whirl in its magic. No coat or jacket was required in the early evening mist. The long-sleeved cotton gown was enough to warm her as she floated across the tall meadow grass toward the woods. The music called her; he called her.

The forgotten Promise

Forgotten was Mama Dee’s commanding voice that had forced Harmony Joi to make unremembered promises to remain at home and away from him as she hurried to assist Doc. Bird with a difficult baby delivery. She would promise anything, say anything. It must be toward 3:00AM, no promise or pledge mattered. Only his music mattered. His eyes, his shy smile or what some called a sly grin that formed devilish means to conceal his devilish thoughts. She was convinced it was a secret grin, used selectively to occupy his opponent’s eyes by carefully revealing perfect teeth surrounded by thick sensuous lips. The trim mustache and carefully trimmed beard concealed  his true thoughts and motives.

His Eyes

Was it accidental or intentional the early evening meeting a few days after that Sunday evening occurrence?  As she had walked out of Doc Bird’s drug store he appeared in her path and simply took off those unique glasses, looked into her eyes and said, “I’ll call you.” She lost all sense of time and space weakening in the hypnotic power of his gaze. With heart, hands and knees trembling she stood stuttering, attempting to give her phone number to the empty space where his reality had been. And now, the following night his music beckoned her with mystic command calling her spirit to its presence.

Living Single

As an older woman living alone, I have come to recognize the significance of the unconditional love and support my father provided during his lifetime. Raised in a family of six- mother, father, three brothers, and myself as the eldest and only daughter—I have observed that the unconditional love of a father has played a notable role in shaping my acceptance of life circumstances. While living alone is not my preferred situation, I have reached a level of acceptance regarding my life.

A Father’s Love

Reflecting on my father’s love, I recall with loving memory, how my father always called me “baby girl.” I loved that term of endearment.  After my mother died, he lived with two of my brothers, daily sitting at the kitchen table listening to the talk shows of that day on the radio. I often visited after work to read the Bible to him. Although I selfishly didn’t want him to remarry, I remember an incident my brother’s told me of their arranging for a woman to visit our dad, after which he was found stupefied, standing against the wall in the hallway. He was barely able to speak and needed help to the bedroom and bed.

Reflections

Thinking of him brings a smile, a chuckle, and a gentle happiness to my heart, knowing he loved me and cared for me unconditionally. Even when he was upset, as he was when I cut my hair, he simply glanced at me, muttered “ssshittt,” and walked away. When it came to my forced teen age marriage due to pregnancy, he refused to give me away, insisting, “I will not give her away to anyone.” Back then, once a pregnancy became known, the mothers of the couple handled the details—planning the wedding and deciding where we would live. In my case, I moved in with his mother and sister (not a pleasant experience). As for my ex’s stepfather, I never met him; he was serving in the military. His father was a Louisiana “rolling stone.”

The marriage lasted a little over two years, during which time my ex completed a two-year Navy tour; long enough for me to become pregnant a second time. My obvious unhappiness and a long weekend visit from our Berkeley apartment that should have been an overnight stay for my two-year old son and a pregnant me at my parent’s home caused my father to offer me a proposition ‘You can remain with us here; however, if you ever go back to him, you can never return to stay” I never went back to the ‘bast turd’.  No, I’m sorry, he is the father of my two sons.

More Children

I have to admit that I actually have two other children, my son’s brother and sister. I love them both. I accepted and welcomed my son’s siblings into my home. My youngest ‘son’ as a pre-teen felt so comfortable at my home that one day he came over and couldn’t get in as no one was home. He broke in, climbing through the bathroom window. Laughingly, I told him “My darling, please, never break into the house again, just wait until someone can let you in.”  As a grown man now, he often expresses his love, and I love it!

My father often gave all three of them odd jobs at his place of business, a restaurant and bar that he built himself, with the help of other relatives.

Love: The Experience

The experience of male unconditional love has deeply influenced me. Because I’ve felt what true love is, I can quickly recognize insincerity in others and know when affection isn’t genuine. This understanding shapes my friendships as well; at times, I feel an even stronger bond with male friends than with female ones. I’ve enjoyed remarkable friendships with men, including the comedian, Paul Mooney. My ‘play brother, D’ was a significant figure in my life until his passing. We talked most every day. Through relationships with others and the ups and downs of life, he and I remained close. He stood by me through my mother’s death as well as two of my brothers, one of which was murdered. And I stood by him when his mother died and sadly when his partner died in Costa Rica while on a training mission toward emerging herself in Spanish for her self-owned business purposes.  They say it was Dengue Fever. I didn’t inquire further.  One instinctively knows, with friends, when not to question any further.  At least four other close male friends have also passed away—I miss them all, very much.  There is something about the male point of view regarding life that is unique from my female friends that is uniquely different. It seems that once the ‘sex thing’ is taken out in the relationship, a good male friend is perfect for me.

One Silken Shoe

Looking back over my 85 years, there was a time when I felt like that ‘one silken shoe,’ standing alone in the closet among the many pairs.  As years go by, more women who once had partners and lived as pairs, now find themselves in my situation.  Although it often seems harder for them to adapt to being on their own. Some had happy marriages/partnerships, or so it appeared; others stayed simply to avoid loneliness. Is enduring worthwhile? For some, perhaps it is. Ultimately, I realize that unconditional love in friendship and in love matters most to me—yet it’s something I’m still searching for. Then again, maybe I’m being unreasonable, maybe I’m looking for something that asks too much of love. Maybe at 85 years it will never be. Maybe….

Unexpected Reminders of Loss

I’ve come to realize that aging often brings with it unpredictable reminders of loss. Sometimes, seemingly out of nowhere, a memory will resurface that can overwhelm us, breaking through the emotional defenses that have been carefully constructed over years of managing difficult feelings. These defenses—what I think of as the “mattresses of protection,” a phrase borrowed from my favorite movie, The Godfather—are meant to shield us from sorrow, but occasionally the sadness beneath seeps through.

A Routine Trip to Costco

I recently entered Costco with a straightforward mission: to purchase paper towels. Growing up, we never used them; instead, we relied on cotton kitchen towels for all those various kitchen needs. But today, paper towels have become indispensable, nearly as essential as toilet paper—a product that became even more valuable during the COVID pandemic. I was fully aware that retailers place high-demand items, like the $4.99 rotisserie chickens, at the very back of the store to encourage shoppers to make additional purchases on their way through. Despite this awareness, I was still unable to avoid the strategy and ended up spending a total of $175.

The Lemon Tree Encounter

As I walked in, ignoring the tempting bulk-priced items to the left, I found myself drawn toward the pallets of garden products. There, on my right, was a display of lemon trees. The trees were heavy with plump, golden lemons, their fragrance cutting through the otherwise stale air of the warehouse. The sight and scent hit me unexpectedly, and I felt an emotional reaction rise of tears threatening, but I refused to let them fall. The memory of searching for the perfect lemon tree to plant in the backyard of my long-lost home swept over me, filling me with a profound sense of longing and loss.

Memory and Acceptance

I stood motionless, able only to gently touch a branch weighed down by the brilliant fruit. Holding it softly in my right palm, I was mesmerized by its beauty, and for a moment, I imagined it growing in the backyard of my memory. Determined not to give in to the tears I felt swelling, I reminded myself of my present reality: I am now an older woman living in a small one-bedroom apartment in a city far removed from the one in my memory, though thankfully near my son. I told myself to move on, to continue toward the paper towel section at the back of the store. Though I did not allow the tears to fall, their presence was there—a silent unexpected acknowledgment of loss. I gathered myself, reclaiming my public façade, and walked on.

A key life lesson I’ve learned over 85 years is to face moments that challenge your beliefs.   The aging process offers these moments too soon and too often. When a family member, friend or the media cause you to ask yourself, “is this really true; did I make a mistake, or am I really losing it?” Well, a case of this dilemma happened to me ‘once again.

l woke up one morning and found two decks of cards strewn on the living room rug of my apartment. I stood looking at the decks wondering how did they get there from the bottom shelve of the bookcase where they were originally stored?

I stood kinda stunned! I took a picture of the wayward decks because I wanted, no needed to mark this occasion in my memory “was this a big marker of my decline?” I knew hadn’t gone to bed with decks of cards lying on the rug in an ‘not paying attention moment’ as I could trip and fall. And anyone knows that falls are a major hazard for the elderly. I have at least two friends in my age group who are dealing with the repercussions of falling. Bruises, broken bones or worse, in my humble opinion, concussions which may lead to other concerns regarding memory, etc. The recovery process for falls can be long and arduous as older bones may be more brittle taking longer to repair.

I told my son when he came over and his take on the cards was” maybe you walked in your sleep and took the cards out.” My immediate response was “I don’t walk in my sleep.” He asked, “Mom, then how did the decks end up on the floor?”  “Do you think that someone broke into your apartment and placed the cards there or accidently bumped into the bookcase causing only those two decks to fall out onto the floor, then lock the door, from inside, behind them? I stood aghast and started going through my compromised with age memory and tried to think of another excuse for the cards being there. 

I did remember a discussion with my friend with whom I ride to church. She told me that during a Christmas holiday gathering a Monopoly game with so many family members had caused them to pay only $20 when passing “Go” in lieu of the $200 required because there were so many members playing. She smiled as she talked about the laughter and fun of running out of the Monopoly money causing her to think about ordering Monopoly money only from Amazon or the like. At the time I thought about offering her the money from my ‘not played forever’ Monopoly game stored in the bottom shelve of the bookcase. I decided to wait before I offered because that was a game that my family loved to play and I would offer to loan her money if she needed it again. 

Could I have walked in my sleep? Could I have moved the card decks to get to the Monopoly game and neglected to return the cards to their proper place? Certainly, no one had broken into my apartment for that purpose. Well, I decided, this is just another effect of growing older. So you walk in your sleep too! “What else, dear God?” 

Well, dear readers, the mystery has been solved! My son agrees that I probably didn’t walk in my sleep regarding the mysterious deck of cards; however, the answer is perhaps much worse, the mice are back! Or perhaps never left my apartment. The assistant maintenance person had brought me a device that you plug into an electrical plug unit that blinks a red light that is “supposed” to send out a sound that causes mice to run away. It seemed to be working. No mice or signs of mice in the kitchen, their favorite place to rummage. 

The other afternoon, I discovered signs that the mice or mouse had returned. They, or it was eating the floorboards in the kitchen leaving crumbs of plastic on the floor around the dish washer. I called the lease office who sent the contracted exterminator over. He laughed at the blinking light and said he knew occasions where mice would poop on top of the device and keep foraging. 

My son came over after work to support his aging mother plagued with mice. I was on a Zoom call with my church members and motioned for him to wait a few moments for the meeting to end. He reached for the jar of mixed nuts I have on the bar (I only use a folding table and chairs when needed, the bar is more efficient for my living space purposes 😌). After a couple of minutes, a sound from him caused me to turn and he was pointing at the plastic container of nuts, gagging. I saw two jagged holes in the bottom of the jar as my son said “mice, I ate some of the nuts. I have to go home”. We originally threw the damaged goods in the garbage as he slightly staggered out the door. He called me to apologize for leaving (a queasy stomach from a spicy lunch then sharing the nuts with mice had exacerbated his distress). He asked if he should return. “No, tomorrow would be fine”. However, I retrieved the evidence we had thrown in the trash for taking to the lease office.  

The next morning, I replayed the memory of the night before wondering how and why themice had moved from the kitchen to the bar in the living room? I put on my Sherlock Holmes hat and began to investigate the scene. The jar of nuts had been placed on bar near where I sit while eating and watching the news or a movie on tv. There were a few mouse droppings around where the jar once stood, not readily noticeable on the dark wood. I looked at the rug around the area, which sits next to the sofa. I pulled the sofa from the wall and screamed!  There was a nest, with a pile of mice poop and mixed nuts scattered around.

It was the mouse/mice that scattered the playing cards! I did not walk in my sleep! I was not losing it as fast as I had come to believe. I should believe what I believe and never (almost never) doubt or second guess myself!

For all those who read www.onesilkenshoe.com  and perhaps are under 50 years, or those over 18 years who have decided to join AARP magazine which lends itself to the issues of aging, I publish this message. AARP magazine published an article in its October/November 2025 issue regarding the “Search for unclaimed assets”. The article states that according to the National Association of Unclaimed Property Administrators (NAUPA) 1 in 7 Americans have unclaimed property on books of their particular state. I tried MissingMoney.com and today I received a check in the amount of $6.96. I also found assets for my church that I forwarded to my Pastor for beginning the claim process. I, like many others at this stage in life, don’t want to transition with unclaimed assets out there in the universe.  I’m always on the look-out for ways to bring in or begin a process that brings financial gain and or abundance into my life. Please check the website out, www.MissingMoney.com