May
Day
By
Bud Focht
Hi,
my name is Bud and yesterday, Sunday, was May 1, and in many parts of the world
was celebrated as May Day.
I
celebrated May Day yesterday because, due to rain, I had the day off.
May
Day is an ancient spring festival, involving dancing around the maypole,
singing and eating cake.
I’m
thinking it must be a big deal if it involves cake.
In
olden times towns and villages would celebrate the coming of spring on May 1.
Most farmers had already planted their crops by May 1 so it was a day the
laborers could have off from work to celebrate the end of a long, cold winter,
and the promise of more pleasant days to follow.
May
has always been my favorite month. My work load begins to ease in May and my
hours worked per week begin to decline.
Most importantly, May brings with it the anticipation of the arrival of
summer.
I
have always been a boy of summer.
That
is reason enough to celebrate May 1. May Day.
There
is also another Mayday. One that, unfortunately, I am becoming more and more
aware of.
Mayday
is an emergency procedure word used internationally as a distress signal. It is
used primarily by sailors and pilots, and always said three times for emphasis
(Mayday, Mayday, Mayday). It comes from the French word m’aidez which means “help me.”
There
have been plenty of times in the last two years, since my wife Terry was
diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer’s Disease, that I wanted to call out Mayday-Mayday-Mayday.
In the last 25 months there has been plenty of distress. Plenty of times when I
didn’t think I was going to make it. Plenty of times when I asked the Good Lord
to “help me.”
May
Day has also become the International Workers’ Day, a day to celebrate not only
the hard work performed all year long but the eight hour work day. The balance
of eight hours of working, eight hours of sleeping and eight hours of leisure.
It commemorates the Haymarket Affair, which occurred in Chicago about 130 years
ago, a peaceful rally in support of workers striking for an eight hour day that
unfortunately turned violent.
My
wife Terry worked for over 30 years in a variety of jobs. When we first got
married she taught a 6am aerobics class at the local YMCA. For the life of me I
could not figure out why people would pay to take a fitness class at that
ungodly hour. I was happy that Terry got paid to lead that class, however.
That
aerobics class grew into a full time job at the “Y” working with youngsters,
teaching gymnastics to toddlers. “Gym-Jam” it was called.
That
was the greatest job for us. The “Y” was right down the street and with the
free day care they had, our kids practically grew up at the “Y”. It was a great
atmosphere for them and the day care room was literally right across the hall
from the gym that Terry called her office.
During
the summer Terry ran the YMCA Sports Day Camp. Basically she got paid to play
with kids outside all summer. Again, it was great for her and our kids.
But,
as I have learned with too many things over the last two years, all good things
have to come to an end sooner or later. Too many sooner. Terry was so well
liked at the “Y” and did such a good job that they promoted her, to a different
“Y” and to a different job, one that involved more money but also more
responsibilities. It was also a job that she did not enjoy. It was more administrative
and management duties and less hands on with the kids.
After
the “Y” Terry, at different times, taught physical education and a computers
course at a grade school, she was a postal carrier (what we used to call a
Mailman before the age of political correctness), a grade school athletics
director and a track & field coach, and later worked at the shopping mall
at a Sears. (She never could find out for me what the people at Sears ever did
with Roebuck)
For
the past several years she worked in a doctor’s office where they help people
lose weight and keep the weight off. The running joke in the office was that
Terry was the “after” picture in the “before and after”, since she weighs in at
a whopping 102 pounds.
But
I am afraid Terry’s working days came to an end last year. She could no longer
perform the duties she once was hired to do. Her cognitive impairment continues
to worsen.
The
worst part about Terry not working is not the lack of income, but the lack of
input. Getting out of the house and interacting with others was so good for
her. The brain is a muscle and it needs to be exercised. Working was very good
for Terry.
This
May Day, yesterday, was very good for Terry.
On
this May Day, while others were honoring the working class and celebrating the
arrival of spring, we were honored with guests and celebrated their company.
I
had the day off due to bad weather and Terry and I were enjoying the company of
one of her brothers and his wife, who were visiting, along with our son and his
dog.
It
sure beat working! What a Great May Day
it was!
May
1 is also the feast day of St. Joseph the Worker, a carpenter, and the Catholic
patron saint of all workers.
Terry’s
brother is somewhat of a carpenter. He is a university chemistry professor by
trade, but is very handy with his large assortment of tools. He has done
numerous construction jobs on our house and on this May 1 visit brought us a “project”
he had been working on.
A kitchen
pantry that he made for us is now the most expensive thing we have in our
house. A solid oak kitchen cabinet that will truly become a family heirloom.
Many
people were complaining about the rain on May 1 this year, but that is
something we never do around our house. When our kids were little they always
liked it when it rained in the spring because they knew that meant the games
would be rained out and I wouldn’t have to work. I would be home.
This
May Day I was home, enjoying guests. It was truly a great day to celebrate.
Until
next time, hope you had a great May Day, with or without rain, and hopefully
will have no reason to cry out mayday, mayday, mayday.
Bud
P.S.
parts of this blog were taken from a blog I wrote last May, in case some of you
with good memories thought you were experiencing déjà vu all over again.
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