My Aunt Reggie found deep comfort in meditating with her fish. For those precious 20 minutes a day, her ruminations faded. She stopped worrying about her disillusionment with the Workers Party. Her sister’s grandkids dealing crystal meth in the wilds of Avellino, Italy, was truly out of her hands. Even the chronic throbbing in her left big toe traveled miles out to sea. With her fish on her lap and the concerns of her day drifting out to sea, life was pretty good. She awoke to a clearer point of view. Anyone could see that my uncle Jack was jealous of her fish, although he kept it to himself. He had issues too, but beyond his 5 p.m. Johnnie Walker and diet lemonade, he never found that same gentle release. May we all be lucky enough to find such solace during our strange journeys through this complex world.