On the way home last night from a lovely evening of books and dinner and drinks with old friends, I felt happy enough about my blue and gold nest with soft sweet sheets and soft sweet permakitten and soft sweet quiet awaiting me. Then I remembered it was peony season and sighed just the tiniest bit. Once, just once, I thought, I’d like a suitor who was the type to buy me peonies. I granted myself one second of self-pity standing in the cold rainy darkness, staring up at my empty apartment outlined by the night sky. Then I stopped at the corner deli and bought $50 dollars of pink and crimson and magenta blossoms–heavenly, heavenly scented and tinted and textured–and came home and filled all my vases with their beauty. There are harder problems to solve–few, in fact, with such joyous solutions.