This morning I awoke feeling unusually tired and creaky in the joints. It seemed as if my body was made of lead and I tried desperately to figure out a way to avoid facing the day. Since that seemed impractical, I sought at least to face it with a minimum of unfelt cheerfulness.

I would be a grump.

Having reached this decision, I got up and plodded out to the kitchen where my feline friend, Emma, awaited me eagerly, pointing out to me with leg rubbings and small cries that her dish was empty. I grumped at her to wait her turn while I made my tea. Then, feeling remorseful, I attended to her needs with fresh food and water; I even went in and cleaned out her litter box, so she would have nothing else to complain about. Or so I thought.

While standing at the kitchen sink preparing my breakfast, I looked out at my garden, and the entire perspective of my day changed before my very eyes, for there against the wall were two plants which had special meaning for me.

On the left, the azalea bush, which had been brown and dry a few days ago, had a single pink blossom on it...no green leaves, mind you, just a pink blossom. And here I had thought it was going into a decline now that winter was almost over! And I said to myself, I must remember to tell Janis that her azalea is of the hardy variety. She had sent it to me in the hospital following my second heart surgery.

On the right, what had been a few days ago a dark green patch with a tiny speck of pink on it (mistaken by me for a piece of paper blown in by the wind) turned out to be the cyclamen that my old friends had bought for me on their first visit here from Chicago, the pink speck now enlarged and multiplied into two lovely blossoms. Such richness!

As I turned away from the window to tend to the toaster, I suddenly felt renewed. And much less grumpy.