| March is a month for all sorts of entertainment. Most of us
are planning silly hats and costumes for Purim celebrations, and all are looking
forward to gift baskets filled with Hamantashen. Bulbs are peeking up, and this
year's first flower shows are full of colorful tulips. Lucky children have
mothers who understand not only the fun of puddle-splashing during Spring rains,
but also the great necessity for warm cocoa and cookies after such muddy
excursions. We enjoy the Hollywood puffery of Oscar competition, and are
inspired by the invincible hope demonstrated during New Orleans' Mardi Gras
parades.
I am ever more protective of opportunities for gladness. There are dire
situations happening all around us, and it seems as though every other email in
my box is a plea for help with some crisis. No matter the happy occasion,
someone is there to kick-off the festivities with a reminder of bad things in
the world. It is as though we should feel guilty for experiencing joy, unless
the requisite dues are paid to misery.
I am not suggesting we should forget misfortune. Indeed, that would be
impossible for any extended period. However, it is important that we open our
hearts to wonder and gratitude.
During the last month, I traveled across the country to spend time caring for my
dearest relative, a lady who is eighty-seven years old, and recuperating from a
bad fall. Chances to grin were all around me. What a pleasure it was to know
that my efforts in the kitchen were able to tempt her appetite, and coax a small
weight gain. We spent time chatting, watching classic films together on
television, and sharing hugs. On Shabbas, I lit candles in lovely cloisonne
holders atop an antique table, before enjoying a meal which included gifts from
a loving neighbor. There were many games of catch-the-ball with her little dog,
who never failed to amuse us with her capacity for fun.
Yes, we dealt with plenty of discomfort, but it was lightened by love. My heart
was grateful for the trust she placed in knowing that I would enjoy being with
her, no matter the distance or difficulties involved. Now, my cousin Edie is in
the hospital, getting over an infection. We chatter on the telephone about her
pretty flowers and my upcoming plans for a short vacation. I have sent her a
colorful pillow covered with butterflies. Her body may not soar with them, but
her spirit can. No moment must be wasted. We are both aware of how precious is
this time of smiles.
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