Stop and Smell the Skunk Cabbage

The last of the snowdrift has melted from under the cherry tree in the back garden.  Crocuses are in bloom and daffodils are in bud.  The trees are bare; the grass is brown, but the afternoon sun has a quality that could almost be considered warmth.  The trick is to appreciate the white bending snowdrops for their beauty and not wish for roses. 

Personally, I love to complain.  If the sunshine is warm and the wind biting, I mention the chill.  Perhaps at some formative time I received sympathy and associated it with love, but who feels sorry for a man buffeted by the March wind? God sends the rain on the just and the unjust.  I always thought that meant you got wet whether you deserved it or not, but now I realize this wisdom was first uttered in a dry country and refers to a blessing.

It’s a good idea to sort out blessings from afflictions.  Our thoughts direct what we say, but people who grumble are building attitudes, and what they say influences how they think.  The psychologist Erick Berne in his book Games People Play described a game he called “Ain’t it awful” in which people sit around and complain.

 We all enjoy feeling sorry for ourselves.  Like drinking martinis, grousing builds camaraderie and is beneficial in small doses. If you’re irrepressibly cheerful when others aren’t, you won’t win friends.  But in the solitude of your mind it’s healthier to give thanks.  Stop and smell the roses, and if they haven’t blossomed, take a good whiff of pungent skunk cabbage and reflect on what it means.