When did the Easter basket become the new Christmas stocking? I like to think of Easter as a relaxed, (hopefully) warmer version of Christmas, with waaaaay less commercialism. But now, I’m being marketed crap as “Basket Fillers”. And I’m listening to kids rattle off their list of “Easter presents” – “I got a shirt, 3 CD’s, a new game for my Nintendo DS….oh yeah, and some chocolate.” How quaint of me to think that the chocolate bunnies are adequate.
My family finds itself utterly, irretrievably divided over one Easter issue: EGGS. Some of us (the husband and the daughter) become nearly giddy over the decorating. Some of us (my son and I) don’t really give a rat’s ass. Then, there is the actual consumption of the eggs.
Me: How can you seriously be so upset about the smell of boiled eggs, and, by extension, egg salad? For christ’s sakes, you’ve created worse smells out of your own body while we’ve been having this conversation.
Husband: Oh yeah? Well, how come you can eat something that smells like that, and yet, when I make those smells, I’m worse than fricking Hitler?
(Thus, the vicious circle we find ourselves in this time every year.)
I’m thinking about starting a new committee: PIFOKEIA,IP (or People In Favor Of Keeping Easter In April, In Perpetuity). Yes, I do realize that the timing of Easter is according to ancient religious calendars, or something. But let’s face it: a whole lot of us do not celebrate Easter as a religious holiday. March Easters throw me off. For a couple of months. I’m gonna be disoriented until June (and not just because of the
manycouple of empty wine bottles in the recycling bin). Years with March Easters are messed up. St. Patrick’s Day doesn’t get the attention it deserves, and there’s nothing to look forward to in April. Let’s get this taken care of, shall we?
My 5 year old suggested, apropos of nothing, that there is more than one Easter Bunny. And that they’re probably girls. “Because girls are better at getting stuff done on time.”
And finally, a walk down memory lane, the Easter Edition: Almost every year, my grandma and grandpa from the city would show up on Good Friday. They’d bring their suitcase in, get settled at the kitchen table with some coffee. Grandpa would announce that he’d run over the Easter bunny on the way. He would tell my mom that he had thrown the carcass in the back of the truck, and that she was welcome to make stew out of it. Then he’d sit at that kitchen table and smoke and drink coffee and eat boiled eggs for 3 days straight. Precious, precious memories.