Musing over coffee

Our weather has cooled down just enough so that I can sleep in my own little room off the kitchen here.
I think Aunt Flo is planning a visit soon, if various signals in my body and my moods are correct. Of course, being perimenopausal (or middle aged), my signals are often misleading and downright confusing.
Signals and signs and sighs.
Dear Wanda, who was such a fine assistant to me during the first several hours of blogathoning and whose Mommy was my substitute blogger while I rode a Metro North train from New Haven to New York, is preparing for her journey to the Rainbow Bridge. Our hope is that she will pass on in the comfort of her own home, under the care of her chosen person. While we might wish her lots more time as Queen of House Cats, I know I am glad she was wise in her choice of place and person. She has had a very good life these past nearly six months. (She moved inside on Valentine’s Day.)
Life has surprises in it. My daily messages (via email, because I have subscribed to some meditations that float in each morning) tell me to look inside for answers, and that changes are in store for me.
Seems to me that as long as I am alive, changes are in store for me. And yes, my daily messages are correct and spot on.
Yesterday I whittered while thinking in short lines. I don’t want to post the whittery bit. Just the gist: I need to know. I seem to draw such emotionally cautious sorts of people into my life. It’s probably just as well, as I do believe some could attest to the wisdom of emotional caution around a sometimes self-centered lioness.
I like making more meetings. I like how good I feel when I am doing that. The bond I have with my fellow drunks and addicts is so powerful. I’d have to say that it feels much more like a family to me than anything I’ve ever known in the blood relationships I have, although Bridie is the sister I would wish for myself. She is an amazing woman.
Folk music is my favorite. Because the words matter so much.