May Day! May Day!

Thank God April is over, because I don't think I could bear yet one more day of quoting T.S. Eliot in my head.

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.

T.S. Eliot (1888–1965). The Waste Land. 1922.

I don't know what it is about the month of April that brings us to our knees (Manic weather? Too many Peeps?) but year after year, without fail, April tests my resolve in every way and I find myself wondering, Can I do this all again?

Can I possibly brave the mall to refresh my spring wardrobe? Will I ever find the motivation to plant my garden? Fix up my house?

I wonder about my ailing dog - the overweight, blind, deaf, feeble, itchy creature with the long toenails and distinctly pungent aroma - and I think, Has April made you wonder if you can do it all again?

I'm sure she thinks about this, somewhere in her dog brain, and especially on weekday mornings when I'm forced to wake her with a nudge earlier than she'd like and then carry her 80+ pound frame down the stairs. Talk about a rude awakening. If she weren't so blind, she might actually bite me in self defense for carrying her around in heels.

But she doesn't, and somehow, miraculously, we both make it to May - the month of Maypoles and mothers, birds, bees, and bright red strawberries. As forsythias bloom and the sky brightens, I tell my dog, It's a beautiful day.

And for the first time in a long time, she hears me.

Mint julep, anyone?