May Brings Many Memories For This Writer

Lily of the Valley--May's Flower

May happens to be my favorite month of the year. It's my bithday month but it's also a month of rebirth and planting in the northern hemisphere. April has its ups and downs with weather, while May is generally pretty wonderful. Warm but not hot yet here in the midwest. In the northern Illinois area where I grew up, May was when the flowering trees put on their greatest show. 

Because we lived in an apartment with no yard to plant in, I satisfied my thirst for living things on my six block walk to and from school four times each day. No eating lunch at school then. I traveled the same route each day and watched the trees and bushes with tiny buds, day by day, waiting for them to burst into blossoms. One of my very favorites was a huge Snowball Bush nestled next to a large two story house. I looked forward to the show that bush put on each and every May. More than once, I considered snapping off a small branch to take home to my mother but somehow I resisted the urge. And believe me, that urge was monumental at times. Surely they wouldn't miss one little twig I'd tell myself. I'd picture handing the flowers to my mother. She'd be so happy. I had myself convinced until a black cloud passed over that picture. She'd want to know where I had gotten the beautiful offering. If I told the truth, I'd be in big trouble and if I lied, I'd probably be found out later and be in even bigger trouble. 

My friend lived in a house that had a yard and flowers. There were tulips and irises in beds along a fence. Lily of the Valley lined one side of the freestanding garage. One day, the girl's mother asked me if I'd like to take some of that sweet-smelling flower home. A thrill ran right up my spine when she asked and I quickly answered in the affirmative. She gathered a nice bouquet for me. I hurried home clutching my gift and made the three flights of stairs in record time. My mom's face lit up when she spied the flowers in my hand but in a flash, she asked me where they had come from. No problem there, I told her the truth. We had no flower vases as we rarely ever had any flowers, there was no extra money for my dad to buy flowers to bring home. Mom filled a glass with tap water and gently placed those flowers in it. They held a place of honor for days in the middle of our kitchen table. 

This is the kind of story you can write for the month of May to include in your Family Stories Memory Book.  It's just a very small part of my growing-up years, but when my grandchildren read it, they will know a little more about me and the kind of person I am/was. 

What May memories do you have? There are many special days this month. Does one of them bring back a memory. Something you may have forgotten over the years. This month we celebrate May Day (today), Mother's Day, and Memorial Day. In more recent years, we've also added Law Day (today), Armed Forces  Day, and Cinco de Mayo. Many graduations take place in May, also. Do you have a story about your graduation? A family tradition on Memorial Day? A memorable Mother's Day? 

I posted a memory piece on May at Our Echo some years ago. If you'd like to learn more about my memories of this month, including a birthday gift that made my face flame, click here.

Easter Memories

This Good Friday is a fine time for you to write about your Easter memories for your Memory Book. For those celebrating Passover, you can do the same. Include the traditional foods, activities, family members that were part of your celebration. Below is my own memories of Easter, written a few years ago for my Memory Book. Maybe something in this will trigger some long-buried memories for you.

Easter Thoughts
By Nancy Julien Kopp

I’ve been thinking about the Easter celebrations of my childhood years in the Chicago area during the 1940’s. When Easter fell in March or early April, we donned spring dresses and coats to walk to church in sharp north winds, even a little snow on occasion.

On one of those bitter cold Easter mornings, I had a new aqua-blue spring coat and hat that I’d looked forward to wearing. Mother told me it was much too cold to wear it. “You have too far to walk to church. You’ll freeze,” she said.

I begged and begged. “Please let me wear it. I’ll wear a sweater underneath.” Tears slipped from my eyes as I waited for her to give in. They were genuine, not a ploy. Wearing that new coat was a monumental need at that moment at age eight.

Mother relented, but I did have to wear the sweater I’d proposed underneath my lightweight, pastel-colored coat. I think I was very glad to have it as my brother and I headed to church to hear the Easter story once again. My parents never attended church
with us. Theirs was a mixed marriage—Dad was Catholic and Mother Methodist, and neither ever gave in to the other. But we kids all attended the Methodist church and Sunday School. Dad polished our shoes every Saturday night so we’d look our best on Sunday mornings. He buffed them to a high shine and lined them up in the living room.

The day before Easter, we dyed eggs in glorious colors. Coffee cups filled with hot water, a dye tablet and a splash of vinegar covered the kitchen table. We arranged the eggs on a big platter with artificial grass as a nest. The Easter Bunny would hide them while we slept that night.

The Easter Bunny usually brought us a few chocolates, jelly beans and a new comic book. He also hid the brightly colored eggs in our living and dining rooms. What fun it was to discover the decorated eggs, one or two of which we always found in Dad’s shoes left out overnight.

Later in the day, aunts, uncles and cousins joined us for a special dinner. Mother usually fixed a leg of lamb or a big ham, glazed with brown sugar and mustard, cloves inserted in the scored top. Many side dishes weighed down the dining room table-- scalloped or mashed potatoes, two or three vegetables, a jello salad, homemade rolls, pickles, olives and pickled beets, and a springtime dessert of some kind, cream pies, berry pies, or a cake with whipped cream frosting. The aroma of all these good things filled our small apartment.

When we were all too full to move, it was time to do dishes.. No dishwashers, but all the women pitched in and they were finished in no time. Maybe not all the women. I had one aunt who always announced she needed to use the bathroom as soon as the cleaning up began. Off she went, and she never appeared in the kitchen again! The clatter of dishes and the chatter of women filled the tiny kitchen. My cousin, Carol, and I were drafted at an early age to dry the silverware, a job neither of us liked. We hurried through our task so we could walk to the park to play the rest of the afternoon.  Occasionally we finished our Easter celebration by going at the movies. We sat transfixed at the fabulous musicals starring Betty Grable or some other glamorous star.
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The rebirth of springtime flowers, trees and bushes still symbolizes the meaning of Easter for me. Christ’s resurrection created a rebirth for all Christians, and as He taught us to love one another, I also think of the love of family as part of our Easter celebrations. It isn’t only the ones of my childhood but for today, as well. We will be spending this Easter holiday with our daughter’s family, going to church, having a celebration dinner, and being together. Not so very different than all those years ago.