The month of May, with its many special holidays, reinforces the importance of tradition in our lives. But there are some traditions which I’d bid adieu to without a thought. In fact, some traditions are now only a quirk in my past.

This may pertain only to the women of the world, but the ritual of spring cleaning has always seemed a little odd. Why only in spring? I know, I know, it’s because you can open all the windows and air the house out. That may have been a necessity in the Middle Ages when straw covered the floors and bathing was considered a sure path to Satan’s arms, but most of us are more enlightened today. Many homes have central air conditioning, clean heat and floor coverings that can be cleaned any time of the year. And I’d be a little leery of opening all the windows to the weather we’ve had of late.

When I stepped into the world of work at age 17, wearing white gloves was part of proper attire for office workers. Another of those old traditions. So-called women’s magazines carried articles about how to keep gloves clean (white chalk was a good cover-up), and Manpower, an employment agency, issued white gloves to those who signed up with them.

During those same days, one didn’t need a calendar to know the season, because in spring, men wore straw hats. It was like a message went through mankind, when one day the wool felt hats were seen no more and all chapeaux were straw. Many women wore hats to work, too, and all women wore them to church.

Some traditions which fade away, aren’t missed at all.

It’s almost the end of memory month, and Memorial Day signals all kinds of traditional beginnings. Tourist season officially arrives. Most gardens can now safely be planted, assuming we’ve seen the last frost. Camps and cottages can be “opened”.

Every year for as long as I can recall, when it’s time to open the windows ever so briefly, it’s also time to fold and put away all the winter clothes, the dark colored sweaters, sweat pants, boots and winter jackets. And from somewhere (never can recall just where I put them) boxes of cotton shorts, sleeveless tops and sandals will be inspected for another year and decisions made – do they still fit? Are they a little too worn? Will I ever really wear them? This ritual may seem trite – and it really is – but I’ve been doing it for so long, it’s hard to get out of the habit. There are no white gloves in these boxes, though.

Truth be known, I haven’t owned a pair of white gloves for decades. If my mittens won’t do, then I’ll go (gasp!!) bare-handed. The only hat I own is an old green wide-brimmed felt affair which is waterproof and was made in Ireland. It would never do for church, but when was the last time you saw a woman wear a hat to church? Or anywhere except on the ski slope?

Those old patched jeans that were so comfortable in December are still comfortable in June so I might not put them away in the box marked “Kay’s winter clothes.” It’s probably time to add some of the seldom-worn and hard-to-get-into clothes to one of the bags scheduled for a date with the Dumpster.

So far, I’ve failed utterly in keeping up with the tradition of doing something because that’s the way it’s always been done. Maybe I’m not a true old-timer. I haven’t started my tomatoes yet; haven’t put in the peas; can’t find the white gloves; haven’t thrown all the windows open – and if it doesn’t stop raining and warm up, the house will never get aired out.

And worst of all, there are still two boxes marked “Kay’s spring clothes” which aren’t opened, and my closet looks like a tomb, full of black and dark clothing. It’s a good thing I don’t have to go to a garden party!

One thing I know. Spring will arrive as it always has, even if it’s a soggy mess and even if I’m still wearing last winter’s wool socks and patched up comfy jeans.

See you next week.

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