At one time children made May Day baskets to celebrate spring and enjoy the rewards of giving surprising gifts to their beloved ones. When I was in perhaps the third grade, our class took on such an adventure. For several days, we worked on creating paper baskets. We cut colorful stripes of construction paper and wove them together, following our teacher, Miss Anderson. We cut and wove and glued. Then we decorated them with our crayons and more cutting and gluing. Finally, we fitted paper handles onto the tops so that we could secretly hang our creations on the doors of unsuspecting receivers: surely our mothers.
We were finished right on time. Miss Anderson brought armloads of flowers for us to use in stuffing our prizes. Lilacs and tulips and al the colorful flowers of spring. We had to wait until the day was nearly over before we were allowed to choose the flowers that were just right for our baskets. I chose the biggest, most beautiful blossoms, allowing myself to be selfish for the sake of my mother. Then we fidgeted (烦躁) away what remained of our day, waiting for the clock to tick down the minutes to our release.
Finally, mercifully, the bell rang! We threw on our coats, gathered our homework and our lunch boxes, tied on our scarves and then, carefully, we cradled our offerings of love and off we ran to our individual homes! I was so excited! I ran as fast as I could down the hill, across the street, up the block, heading home. I paused at the corner of my house, to catch my breath and savor the moment. Then I glanced down to admire my offering one last time before I hung it lovingly over the doorknob. Horrors! Shock, dread and depression! My flowers were gone! Apparently, bouncing out on my mad dash home, all that was left was a sad, messed-up, wrinkled little empty basket! I stood on the doorway and burst into mournful sobbing tears.
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By and by, my mom came to the door to discover the source of the sorrow.
……
Soon, my newly-decorated basket was ready to be offered again.
