I am beginning a new book, Comfort and Joy, by Sylvia Ewing, someone I know in a distant way, through TV, through interviews, through a friend, through a shared profession.

I am quizzical about the topic as I am wary of happiness, am comforted by sorrow on some level, and drawn to people who are not afraid of sadness.  I am sure I could be analyzed about that for years.  Suffice it to say that I am intrigued.  Honestly, I am tired.  I am over 50, mother of two with one little one coming (awaiting the arrival of my girls' adopted sister who is already four months old), and I feel if I do not master letting go, and living in the flow, I will not survive this journey I am already on.

Did I say I live in the house of Flo?  A story for later...

I am writing this two days after the death of a bright, young music theatre performer, mom, wife, daughter, friend, student of a dear friend, died suddenly.  I am struck by how fleeting it all can be...I know this; I am over 50...but again, how fleeting.  And devastating.  I did not know Elana, but many I know did, and reading the comments on her FB page reminded me that time truly can be short, long, crazy, not dependable.

So today matters.  And today, I read Sylvia's stepping stones.  Then my cat, Gigi, took over my lap.  She is a nervous, affectionate cat.  It took her many times to settle into my lap.  She would roll into a position, get up, flop down, adjust, adjust again.  Then she leaned into my hand with her head, semi on her back, breathing shallow.  I petted her neck slowly.  Her body relaxed and quieted.  But I noticed something.  Her ears never stopped registering all around her (even at 6 AM with not a lot of bustle).  Her breath was quiet, but not deep.  I continued to pet her, and she relaxed as much as she could, eyes never closed, content and quiet, but not deeply settled.  We had a moment, she heard a sound, and was up and off the bed.

This is me and meditation.