The Christmas Amaryllis/Hippeastrum flowers are doing well.
I’m getting older and often I wake up early in the morning feeling anxious and a little blue. I look at the news headlines about people who die and often they’re my age or even younger. Maybe the Christmas holiday does that.
When I get this feeling of dread, I try to think of what I can be grateful for. It’s hard to think of big dramatic experiences. If I sit still long enough, it’s the little acts of kindness that drop down like snowflakes, slowly.
The grade school teacher who took the time to figure out I needed eyeglasses because I couldn’t see the blackboard.
The preacher who sat up all night in a chair with my sick mother when my brother and I were little kids and didn’t know how to help her.
The company that hired me for my first real job when I was a teenager. If they hadn’t done that, I might have become homeless.
The guy who took me to an autumn outdoor art show where he was exhibiting his paintings on a brisk autumn day. Man, it was cold.
The guy who took me to a Minnesota Twins baseball game in the summer. Man, it was hot.
I remember a couple of best friends. We weren’t friends long—but it was long enough.
The friends who supported Sena and me on our wedding day. I still remember it with gratitude 47 years later.
And looking at the flowers helps.
Go Retire Psychiatrist 