The month of May suddenly burst into glorious spring. Within a
week Daffodils exploded, tulips showed their full colour, and
when we look up the trees are sprinkling the blue heavens with
delicate sprigs, looking stipple brushed in a multitude of green
During a cold and wet April we wondered when the weather would
turn pleasant and we threw ourselves in to indoor activities,
going to club events and concerts, but feeling a bit low with
the lingering winter blues, the lack of sunshiny warmth. The
promise that Easter brought us in late March did not really
sustain us. Lackluster thoughts crowed our minds, projects got
put off until a better mood would prevail and suddenly it was
May, the weather was glorious and the writers were inspired to
go out and do research but not to sit down inside to write.
May, the month full of eclectic offerings and suggestions like
romance and marriages, (I got married in May) of Asparagus and
Mother’s Day, May Day parades and May flowers took hold of us
and we even become nostalgic. Nothing wrong with that unless it
keeps us from doing the things expected of us by the general
public and our readers especially.
But, dear friends, you have to excuse us, the writer collective:
we went and did things in April, did not feel like working hard
and then May hit us in the nucleus with unexpected glorious
temperatures that turned usually prolific producers like myself
and others into bumbling butterflies fluttering around in gently
wafting breezes, cleaning patios and porches, planting flowers
and cutting the grass for the first time.
What I am trying to say here is that several of our regular
contributors were hard pressed to produce anything, even though
they went to events galore, and my job as an editor was hampered
by my own desire not to sit at the computer, as I am now in the
middle of the night, and write and write and write. How could I
call on my fellow poets, scripters and scribes to do what I
worked hard on to avoid myself?
Alas, I now have no choice, or else you will have a paper with
only photos, a job the best of all husbands does, due to the
fact that I am technically a total zero and know about photos
only how to point a camera and press a button. Luckily I can see
what might make a good picture, but that is the extent of my
involvement in the process.
What you have here is a confession of sorts: I did not do my job
bullying writers into writing, and now I have to work extra hard
to bring you some worthy news in case you were there or not, but
would like to know, or for someone else to know, what it was
like to be at some of these events that were attended but no one
felt like writing about in time, as to avoid a mad rush of
necessity to fill a paper with...ah well, you get the idea?!
Please forgive us for being tardy. I am sure you understand and
you too would rather go and see the Cherry blossoms in High Park
than sitting at a computer…right?
I do want to wish all mothers an especially wonderful day with
their families. I will be reading poetry at the Mother’s Day
Banquette at the Danube Swabian Club in Scarborough and hope to
see a lot of you there.
Until next time,