May has always been one of my favorite months. When I was a child, I loved it because May started with my birthday celebration and ended with the last day of school. (I know some children actually liked going to school, but I was never one of them. I can still remember the pure joy of walking home on that last day of the school year, knowing that I had almost three months of glorious freedom before I had to go back.) These days, I don’t greet my birthdays with quite the same enthusiasm and it’s been decades since I graduated from school, but I still think May has an awful lot going for it.
In May, it’s usually warm enough to enjoy being outside, even if I sometimes need a sweater or light jacket. It’s when I plant the flowers that brighten my yard, and almost always the month when my azalea bushes bloom. I love eating dinner outside, either at a restaurant or on our own patio, because this time of year the insect population hasn’t yet exploded and it’s possible to enjoy a good meal with out fending off hungry flies or blood-thirsty mosquitoes. (And if you’re ever making the argument that even Mother Nature makes the occasional mistake, just bring up mosquitoes.)
Early May also brings Mother’s Day gatherings and, for racing fans, the Kentucky Derby, which I traditionally celebrate with a small party and home-made mint juleps. I didn’t really intend to start an annual Derby party tradition when I threw the first one all those years ago for some church friends, but the following year the church secretary called and wanted to know the start time of this year’s Derby party so she could include it in the church newsletter. And let’s face it, once an event is in the church newsletter, it’s going to happen, so you may as well just go along with it.
This year May was a little different, since I was on my beloved Sanibel Island for both my birthday and the Kentucky Derby, spending a quiet week with family. But it was still a very good month. My granddaughter turned one, and few things are better than celebrating your very first granddaughter’s very first birthday. I was also able to host a small backyard family gathering in honor of my sister-in-law’s recent marriage, and to attend a barbeque with good friends, some of whom I hadn’t seen since the pandemic started. One way or another, this year’s May brought many happy moments, which were all the sweeter because last year’s was basically a washout.
But now May is drawing to a close, and that means one thing and one thing only: Summer has arrived. Yes, I know that the calendar says Summer doesn’t arrive until late June, and that those who live in the southern hemisphere are actually approaching Winter. But I firmly believe that when Memorial Day ends, Summer begins. And I’m ready for it: bring on the picnics, the open swimming pools, the temperatures that allow me to go barefoot outdoors, the long days and short nights. Bring it all! All of it, that is, except for the mosquitoes. Those nasty little things can stay far, far away…..
From the very minute that I was adopted from the animal shelter, I had a feeling I was going to really, really like living with my new family. And I was right. I’ve got my own bed, my own crate, a basket full of dog toys and a big yard to run around in. I have two doggie cousins, Frankie and Roxy, who sometimes come over to play with me. Plus, I’ve got my parents trained to be very generous with the dog biscuits…they even use them to “bribe” me to go outside for a potty break when it’s raining. All in all, I’ve been pretty darned happy with my new family and thought that things couldn’t possibly get any better. But they did!
But if I could abandon just one of my Christmas traditions, it would be the annual battle to put the lights on my Christmas tree. I prefer the large, old-fashioned lights that throw out a warm, cozy glow on a dark night, just like the ones my family has always used. You’d think that putting a few strands of them on the tree would be easy. But each and every year year, something goes dreadfully wrong when we try to light up our tree.
Like many women, whenever I get invited to an event, one of my first thoughts is, “What in the world am I going to wear?” So when I received an invitation to my future daughter-in-law’s bachelorette party, my first reaction was to be very touched and happy that I was included. My second reaction was to start fretting about exactly what I was going to wear for this occasion.
Recently, my son sent me a text asking what I would like for my birthday this year. I wasted no time in sending the answer: a beachfront condo on Sanibel Island, a wrinkle-free neck, skinny thighs and good eyesight. Even though I graciously told him he could select which of the gifts he would prefer to give me, I didn’t get a reply. Perhaps he was too busy comparing the costs and labor involved in each of my selections before settling on his final choice.
Since Valentine’s Day falls on a Sunday this year, my husband and I decided to go out for a nice dinner on Saturday night instead. Sadly, it seemed as if everyone else had the same idea, because when we arrived at our favorite restaurant for our seven o’clock reservation, the place was packed. The host asked if we minded waiting in the bar for a few minutes until our table was ready, which was fine with us. But after a while, it became apparent that the “few minutes” was a very optimistic prediction, and as the hunger pangs set in, we started surveying the restaurant to see if we could spot an open table that the staff might have missed.
Which is why I am always surprised when the Christmas season rolls around and I inevitably find myself wanting more….of just about everything. I have so many antique Christmas ornaments that they don’t even fit on the two trees (three, if you count my little ornament tree) that I put up every year, but I still buy more. I buy my family a reasonable amount of gifts, and then, at the last minute, I find myself buying just a few more. The lights we hang outside our house look just fine, but I’m always trying to figure out where we can hang another strand..or two.
I don’t pretent to understand why the holidays effect me this way, I only know that they do. It’s the only time of year when I eat so many sweets that I have an almost continual stomach-ache, and yet still find myself reaching into the cookie jar for just one more snicker doodle. It’s the only time of the year when I will stay up long after I am tired, just so I can sit in the living room a little bit longer, looking at the Christmas tree and listening to Nat King Cole sing carols. And Christmas Eve is the only day of the entire year when I think I would go to church twice if I could talk my husband into it…I like the candle light service that much.
I have never known a dog who enjoys Christmas quite as much as my dog Lucy. I believe if she could figure out a way to write a letter to Santa Claus (or in her case, Santa Dog) she would. Because she not only receives a couple of Christmas presents each year, she makes it quite clear that expects them.
Sadly for Lucy, she has to wait until Christmas morning before the presents from Santa Dog arrive. (And they can’t be put under the tree until that actual morning, usually when she’s out in the back yard for a potty break, or she will open them before we want her to. We found that one out the hard way.) But when the big morning finally comes and everyone is assembled in the living room to open gifts, Lucy is always the first one at the tree, joyously nosing through the stack of presents until she finds the two that are hers. She always opens first, plunging her face right in the gift bag to get at her toy, then settles down to a happy morning of destuffing her toy squirrel while the rest of us open our gifts.
Muddling Through My Middle Age 