My mother in law died 10 days ago, just 3 days short of her 102nd birthday, in her own bed and in her own home. This isn't meant to be an eulogy for Mrs. B, although she was a remarkable woman and if you would like to read about one of her finest achievements [other than my darling] here is a link; rather I'm trying to understand this time of waiting and grieving, of having time come to a standstill and ever so abruptly lurch forward. The landscape is foggy, the mist rises and clears for a while and then descends again, and it's more of a water world that we float on, learning to ride the waves. The studio calls and what happens there is unpredictable, I think I have a clear idea of where I am going but the pencil in my hand has another. There are a lot of starts but few finishes; my attention span is that of a nit.