May

[pen_grunt]

May is a lovely, lovely month.

I feel remiss not posting in May yet.

Re: May Day... When I was younger, I used to cut out wallpaper cones from a wallpaper sample book my dad gave me for arts'n'crafts purposes. I would glue the wallpaper cones together, add a handle, and then fill them with lilacs. I would go to my neighbors' houses (mostly old people--mostly more than a comfortable walk away since we lived on a 10 acre hobby farm surrounded by multi-acre not-so-hobby farms). I would put the wallpaper cone lilac baskets on the doorknob and ring the bell. I would usually hide, but I wouldn't run away--it's really no use running down a mile long driveway in the flat midwest and expecting not to be seen. I would stay and "visit" for a while, or not, depending on whether the "victims" were home. This was back in the days where my parents wouldn't worry about their 5 year old wandering to the neighbors' houses. We had a VERY safe neighborhood--mostly cows, corn and soybeans.

Sometimes I would pick up interesting rocks on the road--agates and things with nice shapes (we had a gravel road) and I would include them with my basket.

I can't fathom how I did this at all, since I was such a shy kid (particularly that young when the thought of speaking to people occasionally made me burst into tears). Also, there must have been warm springs when I was growing up, since the lilacs are JUST starting to pop out in the cities. And furthermore, who the heck put the idea in my head that I should do this on May Day? I don't remember being prompted by parents.

On other occasions, like Easter, I brought baskets of other things. Feathers, speckled eggs, jelly beans, rocks, and even the occasional toad, snake or worm made their way into my little gift baskets. My elderly neighbors seemed to enjoy it--none of them had grandchildren very close by, so I imagine they hadn't gotten tired of showing appreciation for sticky, squirmy, dirty, random offerings yet.

Ahh, Mays of old.

Comments

[lisa-e-is-me.livejournal.com]

Aw, what a sweet story! Sounds like that was a lovely place to be a child. And a lovely place to be your neighbor, too!

[pen-grunt.livejournal.com]

It was a lovely place to grow up in a way--quiet, quaint. But then again, I tend to romanticize it. There were no other children around really, and it was a day-long trek to go door-to-door selling girl scout cookies.