They are among the oldest of the hundred or so in the room, and they are the bad boys--noisy and cantankerous and throwing tantrums, splitting hairs, and talking about ammunition and barbecue. Then they’re talking with concern about religious prejudice and coming in wearing cologne and purple shirts and giving me all sorts of crap and compliments and then my one worker/sister brings in a Land’s End Catalog--a pin-up-girl magazine for the boys she says.

I grow attached so easily. It’s a magic team. Landed at the same time at the same table at the same seasonal job. An unforced love among us.

At lunch today, a coworker from another team and I practiced our yoga and I saw the pattern of windows, the trees blowing against a cloudy spring sky, this woman next to me who I don’t know except by this one connection, our breathing.

This is who I am, where I am, what I see, what I am doing. It’s not an in-between time. It’s not recovering, it’s not waiting for a move, a new job, love or money or travel.

I know. I’ve said it before but I say it again because I don’t hold onto it very long and have to remind myself--today, what I am doing now, sitting on a sofa typing. This is IT. And it is plenty.