The pansies went out into the yard despite the snow storm.  They had to get some sunlight and I promised I would put them in the garage after dusk.  Calling this a snow storm is stretching it a bit.  We are supposed to get, maybe, three inches of snow total in this spring snow storm.  The pansies my wife just bought could tolerate a little cold.  In fact, they don’t like warm temperatures.

The blooming crocuses had closed.  It was three thirty in the afternoon and they were no longer open.  I will check on them tomorrow.  I wonder when they will open, again, and then close for the balance of the sunlight.  Maybe, they are open only in the height of the noon.  We will see.  If I remember, I will check on them several times tomorrow.  I am curious about my questions.  By the way, I did check the crocuses, again, and realized they were already in the shade so that answers my question:  they only remain open in the sunlight.

I don’t know whether we will have another two straight days in the eighties.  It is already October ninth.  This could be the final burst of Indian summer so I just will enjoy the sunlight and temperatures.  There might be no more days like this.  It seemed as if the whole month of September was rainy and cloudy.  In fact, it broke all records for rainfall for one month.  My wife is basking in the sunlight and I will soon join her.  We are still celebrating her birthday.  She gets three birthday days this year.  In fact the weather is a gift.  It is, at least, the third straight sunny day.  Thank God for small favors.

The worse thing about depression is you isolate yourself.  Staying in the house reinforces your isolation.  Going out in the sunlight is therapeutic.  All of a sudden you are exposed to different and other worlds.

Even if you do not talk to others (and this is hard not to do), you realize your world is not the only world.  There are multiple universes around you evolving.  A simple thing like going to the post office or the local supermarket can make a difference in your life.  You rub elbows with other people.

You hear snatches of conversations even if it is not directed at you.  It makes a difference.  Others have struggles in their life.  It is so easy to magnify your problems.  Going out exposes you to other peoples’ lives.

And there are those who have fractured relationships–marriages that are breaking up or simply for one reason or another are presently under a lot of stress.  And you overhear conversations that reflect this.

You are not alone.  You may find yourself reaching out to others.  And none of this would have happened if you continued to isolate yourself.  Go out.  It matters.  And reach out to others.  Your problems may shrink in proportion to others.  Isolation is never good.

Death and renewal are connected:  the lesson my plants taught me.  I watch my house plants closely.  Right now I am watching my rubber plant.  So many leaves have dried up.

I keep giving it more water–to no avail.  It is in a warm room.  I noticed it has become taller.  It is stretching to capture the sunlight.  Although many leaves have dried up, it is not dead by any mean.

Plants adjust to their environment all the time.  Some leaves dry up.  Sometimes you may not water one enough so some leaves die so other can get enough water.  There is a close relationship between death and renewal.

That is one lesson I can learn watching my plants’ growth.  Those two are always connected.  Sometimes there can’t be renewal until there is death.  We can learn that lesson from observing our houseplants.

Sometimes that means you have to give up a goal and shift your attention elsewhere.  Or someone dear to you may die before you start to grow again.

The same pattern always follows.  In the words of Bob Dylan, and this is a paraphrase from one of his songs:  you have to be busy dying before you can live.

And no one said there would be no pain in the process.  There is just part of it.  From death, comes birth.  It is that simple.  A lesson observing plants (and nature) taught me.