Twenty years ago a dear, sweet friend of mine, Mrs. Brumlow, dug a clump of buttercups from her yard and gave them to me. Mrs. Brumlow has been in Heaven for many years now, and I think of her every January when I start eyeing the clump of buttercups in my yard that now bear her name. When the lights of Christmas have been taken down and put away and the long, dark days of winter seem like they're never going to end, I begin watching for Mrs. Brumlow. Mid-January I see tiny stalks of green poking up from the cold ground, growing taller as the days grow longer. Finally, the buttercups form a bud and towards the end of February, when I think I can't stand another day of cold, dreary winter, Mrs. Brumlow blooms and the surety of Spring fills my spirit. I can't wait to tell my family "Mrs. Brumlow is blooming!"