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“A river cuts through rock, not because of its power, but because of its persistence.”
– James N. Watkins, Author
The early days of May are here. Frilly Kentucky Derby hats, hay fever congestion, graduations, Mother’s Day, chirping birds, and flowering blooms.
Let’s not forget the accompanying symphony of fresh spring scents, including blooming lilac bushes. In the spirit of my unfilteredness that simply can’t be tamed, I’ve got an epic lilac story for you.
In my pre-teen years, junior high was a time for me to do stupid things and lie to attempt to get it out of it, only to be challenged by my siblings for being a moron since I was no longer an innocently naïve child.
Thus begins the lilac story. When our house was built a year before I was born, dad planted lilac bushes along both sides of our gravel driveway. By the time I reached junior high they had grown to about 12 feet tall. When the bushes bloomed in early May, the branches would come alive with lavender flowers, which lasted about two weeks before they wilted, turned rusty brown, and fell to the ground.
One early May weekend in the late 1970s while the lilacs were in bloom, I decided to turn my Saturday night bath into a spa experience by picking lilacs and floating them in my bath. Who needs fresh rose petals when you have spring-smelling lilacs? What could possibly go wrong?
Although I didn’t quite achieve the luxurious ambiance I was seeking, after finishing my bath I felt invigorated for at least trying. I successfully fished most of the drowned lavender buds out of the water before draining the tub, but I noticed a few buds still remained on the drain once the tub emptied.
Whatever, I thought, not realizing those tiny innocent flowers would soon become the evidence that exposed me to a lifetime of teasing.
Ten minutes later, my sister Marilyn pounded on my bedroom door. As I opened the door, she yelled, “Did you take a bath with lilacs? Because there are flowers in the bathtub! Why would you do something so stupid!”
Next came the lamest cover-up ever. “No, I didn’t take a bath with lilacs,” I said. “Maybe they came up through the drain?”
Busted. Marilyn proceeded to go room to room in our house to share the story with my parents and siblings, and perpetual humiliation took hold.
Like most memorable goofs, the lilac story will never die and my siblings and I still joke about it at family gatherings. Despite the embarrassment of this tell-all, lilacs are my favorite spring fragrance. What the silly episode taught me at a tender young age is that I’m an impossible liar. I’m as horrible at lying as I am at competitive sports.
Speaking of sports, Marilyn was a talented athlete. Of course.
Happy Spring,
