Monday, May 2, 2016

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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