"Larry, why can't you enjoy them?"
"I'm sick of them; mowing the grass is an obstacle course; there's no space left."
"You don't understand, Larry." "I need my flowers." "Look at the colors, it will make you feel better."
"Feel better, you know what will make me feel better, toss those ladder trellises." "I'm telling you something is going
to change around here."
Larry doesn't know that things changed for me a long time ago. He's a workaholic, sometimes I'm penciled in his schedule.
"You're never home!" I hollered. He replied, "Get a hobby." I bought a flat of marigolds. When I smelled the dirt, I tossed my gloves
and sunk my hands into the soil. I baby-patted each plant and waited. The blooms shot out, reds, oranges and yellows.
I felt alive again and our yard sizzled with color.
"You piddle time and money, Martha" "You sit around with those silly flower catalogs." "I ask you a question, no answer."
"And something else, the cooking around here is pretty slim."
Last fall I dibbled some bulbs. A beautiful day, the sun warmed my shoulders. I covered the bulbs and anticipated
their spring showing. I wasn't disappointed.
"They are dazzling, a delight to see." "Maybe, for once Larry will stop and think about something besides work."
"Martha, I'm home where are you?" "Are you upstairs?"
Larry stands by the window looking down on the flower garden. He doesn't see Martha. The blues and purples of the
hyacinths are spectacular. Larry doesn't know much about flowers, but he does notice the unusual pattern of the blooms.
It takes a moment and then he sees it, the letters: