Dana Heacock ‘s Abacus Calendars have become a staple in my office. A yearly gift from my neighbor S. (of Monday’s goldfinch fame) these colorful lithographs feature images drawn from Heacock’s favorite haunts in Maine. I enjoy the small ritual of putting up a new poster each month — exchanging tabby cats for coffee mugs and sunflowers for pumpkins. But last month I slipped up. I was gone the first two weeks in April and returned home to a very sick dog. March’s image — a trio of three plush ducks — stayed up until tax day. April’s poster — a weathered shingle cottage in Kennebunkport — hung around into May as McKenzie’s days ebbed one by one. By the time I drew out May’s page I regretted having tarried. I’d spent two extra weeks with the cottage (it’s an OK image, not a favorite) when I could have been staring into the beautiful periwinkle faces of a morning glory vine in full flower. The image might well have brightened a moment or two during those last weeks with our beloved dog. Come June first I debated: leave up the morning glories to enjoy a bit longer or get in synch with summer? Heacock’s June image — unlaced sneakers, their rubber toes white as beach sand — was a bold contrast to the gentleness of May’s. I put up the sneakers. When I look up from my desk I know what day it is (a detail that seems to slip consistently from my alleged mind). But more importantly the sneakers serve as a daily reminder of an eternal truth: You can’t make up for lost morning glories.