March. What's the deal with March?
My first memory was that it was my mother's birthday and all her girlfriends celebrated with luncheons and cards and little gifts. Only now does it seem odd that my father didn't gather us all together and create a celebration/commemoration of my mother on her birthday. And come to think of it, I always felt left out of that day and wondered why.
My next memory of March is seeing the grade school bulletin boards, "In like a lion..."; that never connected to any extent with me.
My next memory is of Julius Caesar and high school Latin and English. Beware, the Ides of March. THAT connected with me with all contacts solidly adhering. Treachery, betrayal, secrets. March.
My next memory is of those Irish Catholics partying their hearts out. Curious. Always have felt really disconnected from that celebration but made sure my little Irish kids had lots of shamrocks shakes and green frosted cookies. Do you know the American Bishops issued a special dispensation last year so Catholics could eat corned beef on Friday, a meat day? Seriously curious.
My next and now memory is March Madness. Just lately, one of my alma maters routinely packs up the band and the cheerleaders and takes them with the team to run with the big dogs in March. Hopeful. Hopeful; drama. Disappointment. And after that's over, Lent is in its final excruciating mile, spring arrives with a wobble, and the daffodils shiver bravely in Bellemaison.
The 'Kan EWA