Advice from a small town girl

So, I'm sitting around this morning, feeling all glum and gloomy, because I hate summer.

That’s right, you read it right.

Lise hates summer.

Lise has ALWAYS hated summer.

I’m pretty sure that if you went back to approximately a year ago, you’d find a very similar column.

Because I hate summer.

I hate summer so much that I pretty much can’t stop thinking that I hate summer ALL summer.

There are a lot of people around here who have SAD, or “Seasonal Affective Disorder.”

According to that source of all knowledge, Wikipedia, “Symptoms of SAD may consist of difficulty waking up in the morning, morning sickness, tendency to oversleep and overeat, especially a craving for carbohydrates, which leads to weight gain. Other symptoms include a lack of energy, difficulty concentrating on or completing tasks, withdrawal from friends, family, and social activities . . .”

Well, at least I don't have morning sickness.

Until ten minutes ago, I actually did not know that there was a summer SAD. Or if I did, I’d forgotten. But that’s another self-diagnosis.

At any rate, I was sitting around this morning, feeling all glum and gloomy and sorry for myself and thinking that I’m seriously weird.

Then I came to town.

The first person I saw was having a rough time. Her father isn’t well and she’s very worried about him. Her mother is due for surgery for some pre-cancerous cells. Her husband is having surgery this week.

She was UNDERSTANDABLY upset.

The second person I saw has a sister with a currently inoperable cancerous growth. She was UNDERSTANDABLY upset.

Now, when I say they were upset, I don’t mean to say that they were unpleasant to be around. Both were warm and friendly. They were nice to me. They are my friends. And if there were a few tears, that’s understandable.

If anyone has a reason to feel all glum and gloomy, they do.

I really don’t.

I have a great life. A life full of bountiful blessings.

Which brings to mind the lyrics of a song I recall from the movie “White Christmas.”

“When I’m worried and I can’t sleep,

I count my blessings instead of sheep.

And I fall asleep

Counting my blessings.”

I frequently forget to count my blessings.

When I still lived in Portland, I spent a great deal of time with a friend who also grew up in my home town. She, her husband and three children were gracious enough to share their lives (and frequent meals) with me. They had a family dinner table tradition of each naming the “three best things” that had happened to them that day. It’s kind of embarrassing to recall how often they listed my presence as a “best thing.”

I’d like to think I’ll remember to mull over my day before I dig into my dinner plate. I’d like to think I’d find three “best things.”

It’s much more likely that I’ll find a hundred.