The Last Day of February

Hurrah. The last day of February at last and no leap year to worry about either. I always looked forward to this day when I was a kid. Here’s why.

Two of my cousins, Diane and Mary Sue and my sister, Sally’s birthdays are all in February. They all had parties when we were growing up, which I attended, but (hee hee) I was just biding my time. I knew that come the first week of March it was my turn to have a party. Now don’t get me wrong. I don’t think I was really mean about having to wait till March, and I don’t think I rubbed it in when March 5^th did come, but it was always in the back of my mind, nevertheless.

Sally always got a Valentine’s Day party because her birthday was the day after Valentine’s Day. My mother, not wanting me to feel bad about this fact, always gave me a St. Patrick’s Day theme for my party, even though that day doesn’t come till March 17^th. I didn’t mind, it was kind of fun. So come February 28 or 29 as the case may be, I was ready for my special day.

Another reason I was happy to see the last of February was probably the same reason all of you did. Hopefully, we all thought, the worst of winter is over. As kids I don’t think we minded all that much, but the older we got, the more we were anxious for spring to come.

March in Maine, however, is tricky. It’s very possible to get a surprise snowstorm in March, which is exactly what happened on March 5, 1941, when I came into this world.

Our mothers were always happy to see the last of the snow and slush. The only thing they had to put up with when things started to melt, was the mud. I can still see the boardwalks that led into many of our houses so we wouldn’t track mud into the house. And who remembers “mud rooms?”

Besides the advent of my birthday; the warm spring breezes to come; the shedding of heavy winter clothes, especially those darn Brewster suits; there was also the fact that on March 5 I was one year older. Each year, hopefully, brought more privileges due to my age that were not possible before.

For instance, when I turned five or six, I was able to begin dance classes with Madelyn Oliver, later Drinkwater. It was a real thrill to me the first day my mother brought me to the tower room of the Community Center for my first lesson.

Around 8 or 9 my cousin Diane and I were allowed to attend Methodist Church Camp, or as we called it, Mechawana, in Winthrop, Maine. We were among the first campers to ever attend that camp. The first time we attended I believe was in 1949 and it was the first time I at least had ever slept away from home. I did well and had a wonderful time. I came back year after year, as did Diane. I was never homesick and the leaders, who we called “Aunt” and “Uncle,” always came to me when someone was homesick to bring them out of it so they could enjoy their time at camp. Age brings privileges you see.

At around 12-years-old, Diane and I were allowed to take horseback riding lessons up on the West Meadow Road. I never became an expert equestrian, but I did enjoy it very much. As most girls that age, I was in love with horses and had an extensive “horse” collection.

As I grew over the years, I always looked for something new to learn or to have fun with. With the help of my parents and the support of some very special people in my family and in the South End, I believe I developed into a “good citizen,” which was always important to my father.

This year is a milestone for me as I turn 70. We’ll discuss that fact later on next month. I still look for new things to learn about and ways to expand my personal education. I look forward to further travel opportunities to experience things that may be out of “my comfort zone.”  I believe we should all try to keep our minds open and learn new things no matter how “old” we become. Learning how to operate a computer helped me in my working life as well as my personal life. I didn’t come to computers and the internet till later in my life, but I’m glad I learned how. How would I communicate so well with all of you without that skill?

When you are young, you are sometimes told “you are too young to do that.” Now that I am supposedly classified as “old,” and can make my own choices, my body tells me “you’re too old to do that.” I don’t feel old at age 70 next week. Although my body doesn’t always agree with me, in my mind at least, I am still that 16-year-old girl driving around the rotary in the old DeSoto with her friends on a Friday night.

Keep learning everyone and thanks for listening.