I’ve been feeling low. My numbers (on my mood scale) have dropped from the 7.5 to 8.5 range to 6.5 to 7.5. That’s the difference between “Ready-to-go!” and “Why-should-I-bother?”

Because I track my moods so closely, I am not worried about this lingering malaise. I know from experience that I will get past it eventually. And in the short term, I can boost myself from 6.5 to 7.0 in a single day by doing the same things that have worked in the past.

Although I believe that severe depression is almost never “caused” by an individual event, moderate drops in mood can be. In my case, there is some residual psychological detritus from feeling close to death. And then, while I was pulling myself up from that, I had to deal with the news that two friends of mine had died.

 Margie ran our English language program at FunLimón, the community center that my family established in Nicaragua, across the street from Rancho Santana. She was in her late 80s when, about two months ago, she had a stroke, from which she eventually died.

 Margie was an astonishingly vibrant and accomplished woman. She was a mother and a nurse and a teacher, but she was also an adventurer, a pioneer, and a ball-busting business partner. (I did a deal with her once. That was enough!) She was also a wonderfully giving person, who spent her last 15 years living in Nicaragua – teaching, befriending, helping, and caring for the locals. At her funeral, half the town showed up.

 Two years ago, I had the idea to make a small-scale documentary film about the lives of some of our eldest residents of Rancho Santana. We spent a year interviewing and filming them. Margie was one. (When the movie is finished, I’ll give you a link to it.)

 And then, just yesterday, I received word that my good friend Joselito had died.

 Joselito was another amazingly accomplished and astonishingly loving and giving person. He passed from esophageal cancer, which he’d been battling for about a year.

 I’d known Joselito for about 25 years. He was one of the first Nicaraguans I met outside of my Nicaraguan partners. He was a singer and guitar player whose repertoire of Spanish love songs was endless. For 25 years, he would travel every weekend for four or five hours to get from his home to the Ranch. And he would spend two or three days playing and singing for our guests, performing at small functions, and selling off-brand cigars on the side.

 Joselito had a beautiful voice and a unique way of playing the guitar (as I’ve been told by guitar players). He wrote songs for and about people, including one about me, one about Rancho Santana, and two love songs for Number Three Son’s girlfriends, the second of whom became his wife. About 10 years ago, I arranged for Joselito to travel to New York City with me, so that Number Two Son could produce an album of some of his best songs and covers. Number Two Son had arranged for some of the finest Latin musicians to accompany Joselito, including Tito Puente’s drummer. The record came out very well. (I have copies for sale if you want one.) But that weekend, itself, watching Joselito charm everyone around him in the Big Apple, was an experience I will never forget.