Happy May Day! Wherever you are, I hope the sun is shining and the sky is blue in celebration of the day. Here is a bit chilly but still lovely. I think Miss Gracie and I will take a ride later. A pretty day ought never to be wasted.

I remember making a May Basket out of construction paper during art class. We’d decorate the sides with flowers using our crayons. I always drew daisies. Either that or every flower no matter the kind came out looking like a daisy. Art was never my strong point. We’d cut a handle and glue it to the sides. The glue was in bottles and had rubber stoppers cut at the top. My fingers always got so gluey that the paper stuck to them. I remember a red basket I carefully carried home for my mother. On the way I picked dandelions to fill the basket. I always had to hold my basket by the bottom as the handle was delicate and was barely held to the sides by the glue. I always knew my basket was a work of art.

When I was in Ghana, I made all my cards except for Christmas cards. Those I could buy. They had Ghanaian scenes and were hand painted by the art teacher. The cards I made for the other holidays were on white paper folded like little books. I’d cut pictures from magazines and glue them to the pages. The pictures were meaningful to the recipient and me. Little sayings were written on each page. My mother saved a Father’s Day card I had sent and gave it to me. It must have taken me hours to find exactly the right pictures. They too were glued. Luckily I had learned the gluing skill in elementary school.

My tulips have opened. Some are red; others are multi-colored. They highlight the garden. This morning I stood and surveyed the front yard as I do many mornings. The birds were singing, the sun was warm and the garden looked lovely. I would stayed a while more, but I knew my freshly brewed coffee was probably ready and I had my papers. It was time for Sunday rituals.