A Spring to Savor

1956 was the last time I was free to simply experience the tender days of April and tempting days of May without schedule or responsibilities. Unfortunately, I was only five and blissfully ignorant that starting first grade in the fall would drastically change my life. I never dreamed half a century would pass before most of my springtime daylight hours were no longer spent cooped up inside either a school or work building. Fifty Springs largely unobserved, barely enjoyed, hardly noted!

Life being what it is, the preoccupations of growing up and meeting an adult's endless obligations kept me so busy that I did not even realize what I had been missing. But this Spring, my Route 55 midlife journey ensured that I was present once again at long last, and now I shake my head in amazement. How could I possibly have borne such a long deprivation?

This year I noticed the first February morning that the crisp air floated birdsong to my ears. I was able to watch the gradual greening of lawn and trees around my home as the days lengthened. I was there to clap my hands in delight when the daffodils in my small patio garden unfurled their cheerful bright bonnets one sunny March morning. The jubilant shouts of vivid yellow forsythia hedges in our neighborhood seemed aimed at me this year: "It's spring! Life is good! Enjoy every minute!" they cheered.

Best of all, I was free to spend an entire weekday afternoon strolling through fragrant groves of blooming cherry trees right at their perfect peak in April. When my husband and I moved north to a new home near Washington, DC, we consoled ourselves for the loss of our beautiful Southern dogwoods and azaleas by thinking about the city's famously beautiful cherry blossoms. That first year, I begged off work for a couple of hours in the late afternoon during peak bloom week, and the two of us created a lasting ritual. Nature is its centerpiece, but we work in some patriotism too.

First, we ride the Orange Line Metro to the Smithsonian station, walk to the Tidal Basin, and mingle with the crowds walking around its periphery. We always pause at the Thomas Jefferson Memorial for a brief rest and to read yet again the inspiring thoughts carved there. Next, we hike to the Lincoln Memorial, where we linger and admire the glorious view down the Mall. Then, we troop by the eerily real Korean War Memorial (I always get goosebumps) to the place where we visit Maxie Williams, and finally, we end up at the Round Robin Bar in the Willard Hotel to consume a number of T&Ts while watching the politicos and power players who frequent the place. We weave and giggle our way back to the Metro and home well after dark. Ah, Spring has sprung!

A word about Maxie. No Spring celebration is complete without remembering him. Maxie Williams was a young Marine who died alongside my husband one Spring day in Vietnam. Rain or shine, our ritual always includes visiting Maxie's place in the Vietnam War Memorial. My husband stands lost in solemn thought for several minutes, but he says nothing; the emotions are too powerful for words. I press my warm palm over Maxie's name carved in the stone, the closest I can get to a hug. I close my eyes and silently thank Maxie for his service, his sacrifice, and his part in helping my Marine husband return home alive and safe. "It's a lovely spring day, Maxie," I tell him. "A spring to savor."