Today’s post is a reprint from June 2024 with a few slight alterations. You might surmise that June is my funkiest month, and you would be correct. Nothing much has changed in a year, except I plan to turn seventy-four….
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According to one poll (https://today..ougov.com/society/articles/45312-americans-favorite-and-least-favorite-months-year), thirty-nine percent of adult Americans love the month of June, and an additional forty-one percent like it. In contrast, a mere nine percent of American adults report disliking the month of June; only three percent claim to truly hate it. I do not know how these results should be interpreted, except perhaps to show that American adults no longer agree about much, and you will never please everybody. However, the poll’s most surprising result might be that eight percent of the respondents could not say how they felt about June.
For the longest time, I would have told you that June was unquestionably my favorite month of the year. And why not? For one thing, where Lola the pup and I live, June is the first month (and there is only a tiny handful) when you count on consistent warmth.
By June, grass is green, trees are filled with the songs of birds, and a variety of flowers are in bloom. Every year, the large city garden Lee lovingly planned, nourished, and maintained until nearly the day she died, flourishes once more. Coinciding with June’s arrival, the garden fills in with new growth. Seemingly overnight, as if by magic, it is both fragrant and colorful, welcoming its burgeoning summer population of birds, small mammals, and insects. The first bloom of roses is about to erupt, and the fat pink peonies, covered with ants, are ready. New plants and flowers of every conceivable shape and size appear overnight. By early June, the large patch of native grasses and plants at the rear of the property is fully recovered after surviving another harsh winter, without human intervention, save for cutting last year’s growth down to the nubs to promote this new growth.
For many, June marks the traditional end of the school year. What kids don’t approach these last days of school with growing excitement and anticipation? For the older siblings, June is for proms and graduations.
Past open windows and doors, I hear neighbors’ music. Occasionally, I plug an electric guitar into a small amp and serenade the neighbors and passerby who are on their way home after a tedious day on the job.
On a gentle breeze, the summer smell of a barbecue wafts over the fence, and onto my property. I inhale deeply.
Even with no major holiday to embellish its arrival, June brings a celebratory vibe to the city, prompting decent people to display greater civility toward strangers than at other times of year. It is a welcome excuse for a farmer’s market, a meal at an outdoor café, or a local street festival. Frequently, there is distant music in the air.
In June, Lola and I enjoy sitting outdoors on our front porch to take in the street. A fine June morning leaves me feeling like the de facto mayor of the block, greeting and glad-handing neighbors, random pedestrians, small children, or people walking their dogs. Young and old alike, including strangers, stop to admire Lola the pup, who, if she is feeling generous, might offer them a stick or ball through the wrought iron fence.
As I say, most adult Americans view June as one of their favorite months of the entire year. A clear majority feel positive about its arrival. For many years, I would have included myself among them.
I have my reasons. Lee and I were married on June twelfth. June 27 marks my mother’s birthday. June 27 is also my birthday. My mom has been gone for many years now. Today, her birthday calls for remembrance, not celebration. I will turn seventy-three in a few weeks, but each passing year, I feel less inclined to celebrate. These days, a birthday can be a stark reminder of one’s inevitable demise.
Nowadays, June also stirs memories and emotions of Lee’s final days of life. As the anniversary of Lee’s death on July 2 fast approaches, I am forced to recall her terrible, physically wasted body; the unbearable pain she suffered due to cancer, which left her moaning in her bed; the overwhelming sadness we all felt, knowing that soon she would not be here to share our daily lives; the awful certainty there was nothing to be done that could stave off death. This fallout from Lee’s death never leaves me, but it is most pronounced and strongly felt during the lovely month of June.
When she was alive, strong and healthy, June undoubtedly was one of my favorite months. Since she’s gone, I am undecided.
