Heavenly hydrangeas

It's hydrangea season again. I'm particularly blessed in this garden with hydrangeas; one of the past owners (probably the man who loved opera) planted seven or eight bushes, and they flourish mightily. I don't do much to them, but every year they put on a great show. They're like lilacs, a very Victorian flower. The blooms are delicate and complex, but the bushes are tough as old boots, 'good doer's'. They only look dreary in the autumn, when the frost kills the leaves off, but at least we've had this mighty flowering to remember and look forward to next year.

Back to work tomorrow. Here's another thought about happiness, vis-a vis the book I was reading. Perhaps to be happy, you also need a little unhappiness. I don't mean the sort of dreadful misery that breaks you, but the minor dissatisfaction of  having to do things you don't really enjoy, like going to work. Perhaps every day you need to do something that's a chore and a bore, just to throw the good stuff into relief. (Ooo, a pun - what a relief, to do the good stuff after the dreary stuff!)