A busy day today. My partner in crime worked from home to avoid the kerfuffle around the dia sin migrantes events, but as it turned out, she ended up helping shuttle some friends — in their 80s — to a doctor’s appointment while I ferried their grandchildren home and provided what help I could to a Brownie meeting, also held here. There were 13 children here at the height of it all, sounding like 40.
When all and sundry were safely out the door, we were just catching our breath when a neighbor girl — 6 or 7 summers of age — came by with a hand-made May Day basket, of red construction paper, filled with seasonal blooms. I had never heard of such a thing, but it’s in keeping with tradition, evidently:
May Day – Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia:
In the United States (and possibly Holland), May Day baskets are made. These baskets are small and usually filled with treats are left at someone’s doorstep.
The article goes on to say that the giver is supposed to leave them without being seen or the recipient gets to kiss their benefactor. I don’t think she knew that either . . . .
Given it was also our 13th wedding anniversary today, I’m glad someone saw to it that we got flowers. The traditional gift is lace. Not useful, but the modern gloss is fur or textiles: I can live with textiles, I think, especially for a knitter.