Every day I check my e-mail. Most of the time I am simply doing finger exercises, another form of piano practice without the beautiful tones. Sometimes, however, I receive a gift, reminding me of the gifts in my life. The following passage is one of those gifts. Peter Jones is a 92-year-old, small but proud man. Every morning he is fully dressed by eight o'clock, with his hair fashionably combed and his face shaved perfectly, even though he is actually blind. He would move to a nursing home today because his wife of 70 years recently passed away, making the move necessary.  After many hours of waiting patiently in the entrance hall of the nursing home, he smiled sweetly when told his room was ready. As he moved his walker skillfully to the elevator, the nurse provided a visual description of his tiny room,  "I love it," he stated with the enthusiasm of an eight-year-old having just been presented with a new puppy. "Mr. Jones, you haven't seen the room; just wait." Said the nurse.  "That doesn't have anything to do with it," he replied. "Happiness is something you decide on ahead of time. Whether I like my room or not doesn't depend on how the furniture is arranged... it's how I arrange my mind. I have already decided to love it. It's a decision I make every morning when I wake up. I have a choice: I can spend the day in bed recounting the difficulty I have with the parts of my body that no longer work, or get out of bed and be thankful for the ones that do. Each day is a gift, and as long as my eyes open, I'll focus on the new day and all the happy memories I've stored away.   May each of our days continue to be a gift. How did Mr. Jones feel about his room in the nursing home?
Worried Curious Disappointed Content
Question: Every day I check my e-mail. Most of the time I am simply doing finger exercises, another form of piano practice without the beautiful tones. Sometimes, however, I receive a gift, reminding me of the gifts in my life. The following passage is one of those gifts. Peter Jones is a 92-year-old, small but proud man. Every morning he is fully dressed by eight o'clock, with his hair fashionably combed and his face shaved perfectly, even though he is actually blind. He would move to a nursing home today because his wife of 70 years recently passed away, making the move necessary.  After many hours of waiting patiently in the entrance hall of the nursing home, he smiled sweetly when told his room was ready. As he moved his walker skillfully to the elevator, the nurse provided a visual description of his tiny room,  "I love it," he stated with the enthusiasm of an eight-year-old having just been presented with a new puppy. "Mr. Jones, you haven't seen the room; just wait." Said the nurse.  "That doesn't have anything to do with it," he replied. "Happiness is something you decide on ahead of time. Whether I like my room or not doesn't depend on how the furniture is arranged... it's how I arrange my mind. I have already decided to love it. It's a decision I make every morning when I wake up. I have a choice: I can spend the day in bed recounting the difficulty I have with the parts of my body that no longer work, or get out of bed and be thankful for the ones that do. Each day is a gift, and as long as my eyes open, I'll focus on the new day and all the happy memories I've stored away.   May each of our days continue to be a gift. How did Mr. Jones feel about his room in the nursing home?
A. Worried
B. Curious
C. Disappointed
D. Content
Answer: