No Baskets for You

Yesterday I reminded The Child that "tomorrow is May Day". She looked thoughtful.

"Are you going to take May baskets around?"

She looked thoughtful some more than turned to me and said, "I think I'd rather sleep in".

She's gotten too big for a tradition. That makes me sad.

Except my lilacs are blooming and it is a perfect May Day, with blossoms snowing through the air and birdsong coming in through the open kitchen door.

Let the frolic begin.




Vanessa Redgrave & the cast of "Camelot" "The Lusty Month of May"

(Isn't she impossibly beautiful?)

Well, It's May Day. Again.

This morning began as does every first of May, with The Spouse planning his parade of tanks and missiles in Red Square. I hope that I can someday buy him some armaments. He'd dearly love to have a tank. And some Marines. He really wants to have a rank of Marines standing at attention when he walks in a room. Who doesn't?

I had to put together the Maybaskets as The Child was indisposed yesterday. When we first bought our house there was very little in the way of flowering bits for our first May Day. Not to mention we had only met a few of our neighbors back then. But much has changed in 10 years and so even though I am quite a neglectful gardener and despite the first 6 weeks of "spring" being wretched and cold, there were enough blossoms to create these:


I think they look very pretty.

The Child, as was to be expected, tried to get out of going to school today. I mentioned that since from 4pm yesterday she was fit enough to argue with me, I suspected she could handle school. She countered that there was a test today for which she had not studied, to which I replied that if that was the case perhaps she would have been better served studying yesterday afternoon rather than watching "Return of the Jedi" for the 412th time.

"Oh, fuh-ine, I'll go to school," she huffed.

Sing it with me..."she's the worst mother in the world"...waah, waah" ...

She was over it by the time she needed to deliver her fleurs.



The Rabbi's Wife saw us as she was returning home from her work-out and gave a friendly wave. She knew what we were up to. But otherwise, the mission was accomplished. And when I mean "mission accomplished" I mean that the flowers were delivered on time and, with that one exception, in secret. You know, accomplished successfully. I clarify, less you be confused by the infamous moment which today celebrates its 5th anniversary:

To paraphrase Inigo Montoya, "I do not think that phrase means what you think it means".

Or in the sentiment JP once gracefully penned, "George Bush is a jackass".

Returning to happier, more May-like thoughts. My lilacs are in bloom.
I adore lilacs. And over at the coffee shop you'll find a video which is my theme song for the day.

It's a beautiful morning, full of blossom and chirping and that odd but insistent bright orb in the sky which seems to be trying to coax my roses. I think it's a good omen.

Bringing in the May

There are 3 days in the year when it is very easy to get The Child out of bed: Christmas, her birthday and May Day. This morning, at 6:45 (15 minutes earlier than her usual wake-up time), with nothing more than a "Time to get up, dolly", she was up and dressed and ready to deliver May baskets.

Leaving May baskets seems to be a dying art. I am resolved to carry it forward into the next generation. (I understand that my sister, Martha Stewart, is equally determined). Our children have learned how simple it is to bring great pleasure to neighbors by leaving a little boquet on their door step.

The enterprise began last night, with The Child filling a tub with lilacs, weigelia, blue bells, rosemary blossoms, mountain ash blooms and rhodedendrons. After dinner, as The Spouse and I sat down to start our May Day eve viewing of "Reds" (long movie, takes us a couple evenings) she went to the kitchen to bash woody stems with a hammer and arrange her baskets (in this case, Mason jars). Then she went off to bed. When we stopped the movie for the night, this was the sight that greeted us:

There were 11 neighbors destined for baskets this morning. It is very important to The Child that she be sneaky about it. This can be difficult given factors like creaking stairs and barking dogs. But only one neighbor saw her at her task and that was ok because she got a hug.

When she arranges her boquets she wants to make sure that everyone has an equal number and variety of blossoms. She carefully selects which arrangement goes to which door.

Then sneaking on tippy toe toward the house

she deposits her offering just so, far enough from the door that no one knocks it over before spying it.

It's a lovely way to begin the merry month of May. It rained last night but was only the merest bit overcast this morning. There was a sweetness in the air, lilac and daphne, and it felt good to be out in the cool, watching The Child skipping and grinning as she brightened doorsteps.

We met this very handsome fellow while we were out. Had I met him in my garden I would have plucked him up and settled him on a saucer of salt but as he was just taking his morning constitutional a block from my garden, I let him be. May Day amnesty.

Then we went home, saluted the mountain ash tree that was planted 10 years ago today and made cinnamon-raisin bread into French toast.

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While I focus on the Celtic side of May Day, The Spouse will be walking around calling everyone "comrade", wishing he had a tank to roll down the street and bollocking the words to "The Internationale". So here's a shout out to all the unions, the people who brought you the weekend.