Every year spring returns like a miracle. It's true that in other years I've hardly noticed it, apart from the milder weather and a chance to wear light clothes. This year I find it almost intoxicating. My garden is a riot of color from all the bulbs I planted in the winter. I have borders of freesias in a dozen different colors, and in the early morning and evening they release their heavenly scent. Yellow daffodils and creamy jonquils nod in the breeze, and for the first time, I have tulips on all my windowsills, flowers I always thought only grew in Holland or in expensive greenhouses.

Am I going through second childhood or, what an aunt of mine used to describe, as "mutton dressed up as lamb"?

We are enjoying lovely sunny days with only occasional April showers. I've rearranged my wardrobe and packed away the dark skirts and pants, the heavy sweaters. I've taken down and ironed all my pretty cotton and silk dresses, which I haven't worn since Steve died. They make a rainbow of delightful colors in my closet and I've found some nice sandals I'd forgotten that I owned. Feeling a bit silly? More than that, maybe I'm being a bit wicked? I painted my toenails in a shade called "Old Rose." Am I going through second childhood or, what an aunt of mine used to describe, as "mutton dressed up as lamb"?

My birth certificate may show that I'm a senior citizen or that euphemism "Golden Ager" but suddenly I feel young. From all the work in the garden, I've lost weight and my figure seems to be trimmer and less matronly. I know I have a spring in my step and a warm, inner glow. Jenny remarked on it the other day when we were both working in our gardens and chatting over the fence. "Dorothy, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were in love." I sort of giggled and she reached over and grabbed my arm. "Why, I believe you are. Who is it?"

I just smiled vacuously, truly embarrassed. Suddenly light dawned. "Good heavens. It's Ron Wilson, isn't it?" When I still didn't answer, she went on. "Of course it must be. I thought he looked at you in a special way at the last meeting of the Gardening Club."

I blushed. "Jenny, don't tell the others."

"Why not? I think it's splendid."

"Why not? Because it's only a year since Steve died and, well, at our age. . ."

"Nonsense. You're younger than I am. Why not?"

"Did you ever. . . " I didn't know how to put it delicately. Jenny had been widowed for 12 years. I liked her a lot, but she was a plain, no-nonsense type woman whose main loves seemed to be her garden, her dog Muff and her grandchildren.

"Did I ever look at another man? Of course I did." She laughed. "The only problem was that they didn't look back." She squeezed my hand. "I won't breathe a word if you don't want me to. But if you get married, I expect an invitation. Maybe I could even be your flower girl," she kidded, "as I'm the one who dragged you along to the Club and introduced you."

Something happened the other day that made me very uncomfortable. My 14-year-old granddaughter Olivia called in after school, and Ron and I were enjoying a cup of coffee. He'd come to bring me some annuals to plant so that I'll still have a good showing in the summer: asters, lobelia, marigolds and periwinkles. She seemed put out that I had a visitor and despite Ron's attempts to charm her, she was a bit ungracious. I noticed she made several references to what Grandpa used to do in the garden. So it wasn't a surprise that her mother called me a few hours later.

Vanessa's voice was sharp and she didn't beat around the bush. "Olivia said you had a visitor today."

"Yes I did. Do I have to ask permission?"

"No of course not, only it was a man."

"I believe I noticed that," I said sarcastically.

"Who is he?"

"A friend. He's the man who runs the Gardening Club. His name's Ronald Wilson. I told you."

"You didn't tell me he comes to your house. I offered to get you a gardener."

"What's this about Vanessa?"

"Nothing. It's just… can the children still drop in on you? I mean I hate to think they might interrupt something."

I felt angry. "How could you say that to me? You are 38 years old. You should know me by now. Why are you suddenly thinking of me as an immoral woman, not fit for your children's company? When Olivia came, I was having a cup of coffee with a dear friend. By the way, she was very rude to him and I think she should apologize."

"She was surprised, that's all."

"Surprised that I wasn't buried along with your father? Surprised that I have friends, men and women? Surprised that I intend to have some good years still?"

"I think you're over-reacting. I don't mean…"

"I know exactly what you mean, Vanessa and I don't feel like continuing this conversation."

I hung up the phone, my hands shaking. Was this how it was going to be with my son Peter and his family too? They had all been so supportive and loving when I was grief-stricken, but I needed their support now too, when I was contemplating a new chapter in my life. It was far from certain that I was going to get it.

How has your family reacted to your new romantic relationship?