The sunken Jacuzzi in our solarium provided the moist atmosphere that our orchids needed. They were a motley lot. We had acquired them wherever we found them, and so they ran the gamut from a well behaved Cattleya to a grotesquely shaped flower we never identified.

Margo and I had built this 25-foor addition to our home with our own two hands. There were railroad ties bordering beds of bark and there was a variety of plants. But it still did not have the spirit we had been looking for. But after the first orchids had moved in we knew what was needed; more orchids.

And as usual in out life, providence provided. We were visiting a friend in Florida and while there decided to go orchid hunting. We wound up at a huge nursery but were told that they did not sell orchids. As we left, an old employee walked with us to the parking lot.

There he told is in a low voice that we should go to the far end of the nursery where we would find two dilapidated greenhouses. "Just be careful", he warned us, "there is broken glass all over the place. It's a crime; my babies I tended for many years, they are dying. Take as many as you want, then see me when you leave."

He was right, it was a crime scene. Most of the glass that had sheltered the orchids now lay as shattered shards wherever one looked. The benches that once had been the home for many orchids were rotting away. This was a place of death and destruction.

And yet, there was life here and there among the rubble. There were green leaves and occasionally a splash of color where an orchid eked out a precarious living. We carefully picked our way through this mess. We now were on a rescue mission, plucking survivors from the debris wherever we found them.

We finally made our way back to the front office, loaded down with as many as we could carry. As I looked at the old man, who was inspecting us and our loot, I noticed his eyes getting moist. His love and his bond with his babies was almost palpable. And since he was the only employee present he charged us a ridiculous price.

That was how the orchids found a loving home again, and how we were later rewarded with a riot of color and shapes. But they were not the only splashes of color in our solarium.

A large easel stood here and Margo spent many enjoyable hours in front of it, oblivious of time and chores. She always was the happiest when she could caress her canvas with her paint brushes. And her happiness was a huge splash of color in my life.

Did it matter that she thought it was still noon when it was already dinner time and no dinner had been prepared? Who cares when happiness is flowing.