Sweet luck likes to taste me, a wave of Lilac washes through me, and I'm delighted when it returns.

For example, true story, recently, at a venue in which you wait your turn for up to two hours, I was bummed I hadn't brought a book or a pen.  The many of us picked a folded number from a hat and I heard, "Glad nothing's burning for me to get at, I'm 92, what are you?"  "Me, oh man.  Look at this, 142, oh well."  "What are you Ms.?"  I unfolded my paper and said, "I'm number one."  Trying to convey that I don't understand this either, I shrugged my shoulders once, "I'm just lucky like that."

The receptionist beckoned number one to her desk and the men behind me went to laugh and applaud.