A is for April—Where My Story Always Seems to Circle Back

 

According to Dictionary.com, a glutton for punishment is “someone who habitually takes on burdensome or unpleasant tasks or unreasonable amounts of work. For example, Rose agreed to organize the church fair for the third year in a row—she’s a glutton for punishment. This expression originated as a glutton for work in the late 1800s, with punishment substituted about a century later.”

I’ve decided I must be a glutton for punishment myself, because I signed up for the “April Blogging from A to Z Challenge.” My first time. While I don’t consider writing “unpleasant,” posting every day is something I haven’t done since I started blogging back in 2004, after my husband’s stroke, when daily highs and lows gave me plenty of fodder. (Well, I take that back. I did the NaWriNoMo challenge in 2013 and 2015. That’s the challenge where you try to write a 50,000‑word novel in a month. I reached the goal once, a first draft I haven't touch since.)

If I understand the rules correctly, here’s how the April A–Z Blog Challenge works: we commit to posting every day except Sundays. The first day’s topic begins with A, the last with Z. All 26 posts connect to a theme of our own choosing. Mine is: “The humans, habits, hidden joys and heartaches that shaped my world.” I apologize in advance to long‑time readers if I revisit a topic or two I’ve written about before. I may have eight-plus years of memories to draw from, but some of them stand taller in my brain, waving their arms and shouting, “Pick me! Pick me!”

I’m starting with A is for April because it has always been an important month in my life. My brother and I both arrived in April, and while I’d love to claim my parents planned it that way, I seriously doubt that in the late 1930s and early 1940s they had many “family planning tools” at their disposal. Some questions you just don’t ask your parents.

And some questions you do. After my mom died (in April in the '80s) I grilled my dad for his memories of raising two kids during WWII, and those conversations became a few chapters in first family history book.

Most of us think of April as the month when the world comes back to life after winter leaves everything colorless and bleak. The daffodils poke up through cool soil, the grass greens up and we rake away the wet, matted leaves so we can dream over the seed catalogs arriving in the mail. As journalist Hal Borland put it, “April is a promise that May is bound to keep.”

But back when my brother and I were toddlers, my parents were dealing with shortages, ration stamps, and blackout shades in case of air raids. Dad was deemed essential in an essential industry, working 14–16 hour shifts making patterns and prototypes for airplane parts and munitions. Mom bought our birthday and Christmas presents at the Salvation Army Secondhand Store. She also cared for two additional toddlers during the week while their mother joined the Rosie the Riveter movement, taking a man’s job in a factory after the "men folk" went off to war.

Fast‑forward to April 1970, when I met my husband. He was also born in April, and we were married in April. We planned to get married between our birthdays so Don would never forget our anniversary and we could celebrate all three occasions at once. But as an 18th‑century Scottish poet said, “The best‑laid plans of mice and men often go awry.” The courthouse was booked, so we had to wait until the following week, and to this day I can never remember the date. In widowhood, remembering the month and year feels good enough, especially since I no longer get boxed, sugary‑sweet Hallmark cards or give Snoopy cards when I could find them. (Note: don’t assume those fancy-ass cards reflected Don’s undying love and devotion. He’d sign them on a Post‑it note because I collected greeting cards and he knew they’d be worth more unsigned. There’s a dichotomy in there somewhere if you care to dig deep enough.)

So there you have it—my first post in the 2026 A–Z Blog Challenge. It clocks in at 923 words (or 629 if you don’t count the first two introductory paragraphs). The Challenge requires 200 words per post. My weekly Wednesday posts usually run 1,200 to 1,500, so I shouldn’t have any trouble there. I’ve got a rough idea for every letter except Q. I’m thinking of asking you (my readers) to send me questions I can answer.

If you’ve got one, let me know. ©