Grandma, can we blow bubbles now?" Taylor asked, tugging on my sleeve.

Turning to look at my four-year-old granddaughter, every part of me wanted to shout, "No." She would ask, why. What reason would I give?

"It's winter in Wisconsin. The temperature is fifteen degrees below zero outside. Grandpa died last week and I don't feel like doing anything."

I decided it would be easier to blow bubbles than try to explain.

We bundled up in our coats and gloves, before carrying the large economy size bottle of bubble solution out onto the deck. Taylor carried six different sized bubble blowers.

Her first bubble emerged in a swirl of pink, blue, and yellow color. It floated slowly, then suddenly shattered like glass. "Wow, Grandma, what happened?" Taylor asked.

We had blown bubbles together many times but nothing like that had ever happened before.

"The air is so cold that the bubble froze and turned to ice, " I explained. "That's why it didn't pop the way they usually do."

Suddenly my world was filled with the laughter of a four- year-old on a cold, winter afternoon. Taylor, delighted, blew bubble after bubble until we were surrounded by a floating rainbow of colored crystal balls.

For a moment tears filled my eyes. Frozen bubbles might be a small thing to some people but not to me. There had been no moments of joy for a long time. Cancer, pain, suffering, and finally death had filled my life for months.

Taylor took me by the hand and showed me that life could once again hold little surprises. Moments of joy and beauty. Times that make life worth living. Blowing winter bubbles with my granddaughter became the most important thing to do that day.

Thankfully I hadn't listened to my own excuses that winter afternoon.