The marvelous month of May

Sea winds pierce our solitude. That’s how Ralph Waldo Emerson described the month of May.  I see it quite differently.

Yes, it’s a moon I would describe to bless Mother’s Day, to salute the flag of Israel, to wave the American flag on Memorial Day, and, for me, to celebrate our golden anniversary.

What will I wear for that occasion?  I am a “closet existentialist,” and when I enter the crowded and crammed cedar chamber where I store and keep my racks of seasonal changes of jackets and trousers, with paintings leaning on the floors, I relive chapters of my ever-changing wardrobe to suit the ever-passing seasons. The existential philosophy claimed ambiguity and freedom, so you can be what you choose for the weeks of mid-springtime and beyond!

When we were boys, my brother and I could still catch the perfume of the cedar that was supposed to keep the moths away, but didn’t always succeed!

Our dad forbade us to read the funnies once upon a time long ago, but Chick and I would defy that rule of household law: we would hang a flashlight to the crossbeam to study those forbidden comics. We labeled it our personal SSF (Secret Society of Fun!), and in our silly college years, the initials caught on.  Our roommates applied to be admitted to the SSF as a high honor in the search for privacy and secrecy.  I am thus hereby breaking the steadfast rules with this confessional report.

So, what shall I freely choose to wear to toast this marvelous month? My Bat Mitzvah grand-daughter Eleanor will judge my jacket and the pins I flaunt on its lapels and likely the preview of a patriotic cravat for the upcoming patriotic Memorial Day.

I got a nice neat haircut to conceal the years behind us, and celebrate the years before us, for our golden anniversary, with its cheerful and hopeful Champagne toasts to more to come.

When I think about “Mother’s Day,” I think primarily of the devoted mom of our children, and then their children, and of maternity itself.  Since my dear lady works in Women & Infants Hospital as a lactation consultant, I focus on honoring her dedication ... with all my heart!

And here comes my finale: Yes, I was indeed breast-fed as a baby, as were our trio of newborns, with pride, pleasure and potent meaning!

So there you have it, Ralph Waldo, not solitude but society! And I like to at least pretend that I include, like our youngest grand-kid, Noah, all creatures that serve to preserve the dignity of our planet ... a Jewish concept indeed!

MIKE FINK (mfink33@aol.com) is a professor emeritus at the Rhode Island School of Design.