I rubbed my cheeks to try to get my circulation going. Then I jumped from the van and resolutely put my mind into catering gear. Work, action, moving forward: All these were the antidote for stress, depression, and a host of other ills, right? Tom and I both needed to get cracking.
The Southwest Hospital Women’s Auxiliary and friends of Nurse Nan Watkins swarmed across the rutted parking lot and toward the bright white tent. They bore table linens, flower arrangements, baskets, bags, and boxes, all bulging with the flatware, china, glasses, and other odds and ends they’d insisted on providing. Two separate groups of volunteers were slowly hauling a pair of bulletin boards toward the speaker’s podium.
I tried not to think that this might be my retirement party, too.
Soon I was loading To
