May Love

Mom loved May. She married in this month. She had two babies in this month. Gerri Lee and I were close with June and April birthdays. Mom thought our neighbors, the retired couple, returned to Pennsylvania too soon. The Boal's made the trip back in April and she always said she would wait until May.
My cousin, Bruce, was born the beginning of May, the fourth, I believe. When he was born to my mom's little sister, Mom walked to the neighbor's, Thelma Leslie. This name was always said like one word. I hardly remember her, but she lived in the Italianate red brick home, like Garret's, only down Main Street. She had huge lilac bushes and with permission, Mom picked a bouquet to take up to Aunt June.
We took our best vacations in the spring of the year. There is a freshness with May days, the promise of summer, but not the humidity as much. I remember running around, thinking this is perfect. I glanced at the thermometer reading 72 on Garret's porch.
May is when Erickson's opened. We strolled there every night for ice cream. The day lingers until almost nine. That was hard when I was in kindergarten with a bed time of eight. I laid in bed watching the setting sun, feeling punished, waiting for school to be over.
I came in almost every evening with grass stains, dirty feet, smeared sweaty face and tousled blond hair. I had to either soak in the tub or just get a good sponge bath scrubbing. Maybe a half hour of TV before the torture of laying in bed.
Mom's love of May is in me as well. Yet lately, I really like June with the ripe green that is soothing. September is beginning to find favor with me, as well. The key is clear blue skies and comfortable temperatures.