April is the cruelest, if T.S. Eliot is to be believed, but, dead land not withstanding, I’ll take lilacs. And daffodils and bleeding heart and . . .
May landed on us yesterday, and I for one face it with clenched jaw determination to enjoy it if it kills me. The weather ranges from damp and dank to dead perfect. When it is damp and dank, I can hide in my writing cave and get work done, always a good thing.I have a novella to polish, beta comments back on my next novel to study and incorporate, and web site changes to make. There’s always marketing if it rains too many days.
When the weather is dead perfect, i can burst out of my cocoon, take to the trails and enjoy nature. Or garden in the brief window we have to plant.Or drive up into the mountains. Or clean out my front beds and make my house look ship shape. Or take a bike ride. Or head to the shore. Or clean the windows that overlook my flowering trees and bird feeders now busier than ever.
Or respond to any of the 200 invitations I get. Mother’s Day looms quickly. It is not, I confess, one of my favorite days for innumerable reasons, but there it is ushering in the rest of May. In a big family first communions, confirmations, graduations, and even weddings are sure to follow. Backyard grills and fire pits beckon. Memorial Day looms over the horizon. Can parades and picnics be far behind? The zoo…the arboretum, the wildflower refuge…sigh
I love doing all of it. I just can’t actually do all of it. I have to decide. Deciding is no fun. May is cruel. As if that weren’t enough we have birthdays by the boatload: daughter, son in law, nephew, sister in law, all deserving notice. Ok, let me be honest. One of them is mine—yet another birthday. Too much of any good thing is hard on a body. Yes, May is the cruelest month. Sorry T.S.Eliot.
But first, coffee.