You know those times in life when it seems like there’s been a big and significant unveiling of something? A certain kind of something that’s always been there, yet somehow has gone unnoticed or denied, even. That’s what Easter was to us this year.
(Sorry. That picture on the right up there was The Rev’s face right before choking on too many Mentos. So funny. Oh good grief.)
Easter Bunnies bring bubbles. Don’t bubbles just scream “Easter” to you?
In the weeks leading up to Easter this year, so many friends asked what we were going to do, how we were going to celebrate. To be honest, even though I grew up in a very church-going environment, we were never taught that Easter was any different than any other day. In fact, I felt a little scolded to separate it out as significant, because every remembrance of Jesus, every Sunday, was to celebrate His birth and death and resurrection. I think I’ve always just brushed off the fact that people celebrate Easter for anything more than a really awesome day to dye eggs and hope for big buckets of chocolate. Or baskets, for that matter. I put the day in the pile of holidays that Hallmark made.
But this Easter, I had a friend explain to me that they do it up bigger than Christmas at her house. This is the real celebration for them. There are big gifts, big dinner, big family time.
How cool is that?!
And then another friend called and asked if our families could celebrate Easter together. Bring whatever dish that signifies Easter dinner to you.
We didn’t celebrate that in my home. We had big family dinner every Sunday after church, but I had no idea what to bring to signify Easter. I asked Hank, who was no help.
This was our big contribution: Black Buzzards. I won’t even attempt to really explain it, but it looked so gross. It kept getting the, “This is interesting” comment, but they drank all of it. Basically, there was bacon infusing bourbon in our home, in a mason jar no less, for the past several weeks. Then Hank took that bourbon and filtered out the bacon and solids (this seriously looked like something very wrong sitting in formaldehyde on top of our fridge), and brought that to the dinner in a smaller mason jar. Molasses was then drizzled into the bottom of glasses, topped with the bacon-infused bourbon, then with Ten-Fidy (one of Hank’s clients), and garnished with, you guessed it, another strip of bacon.
It was, surprisingly, a hit.
I stuck to this. The $90 bottle of wine.
A little watery, but nice to sip.
But our real celebration was in each other.
We took our time preparing awful-for-you Midwestern delicacies, like cream cheese corn (yes, that’s a stick of butter and a package of cream cheese in there. Oh, and my hardened arteries are off camera…),
And let’s not forget the Velveeta (for the broccoli/rice casserole).
But this. This was the redeeming factor. It brought the whole meal together in an amazing symbiotic relationship: prime rib, baby.
And while some of my favorite smells were weaving themselves in and out of the kitchen, some of my favorite sounds were floating in from outside,
And inside, complete with The Rev’s rendition of the Beyblade battle cry,
Let … it … RIP!
Yes, his tongue nearly ejects clean out of his mouth with his pronunciation of an “L.” It’s a sight to behold.
Speaking of sights to behold, here’s one. Baby Salsa, as The Rev has affectionately named her. And no, it’s not an indicator of a spicy personality, for she’s as sweet as pie and cuddly as they come. It’s just how he pronounces her name.
Her Momma is one of my village peeps.
The village, which keeps accepting new members.
Sometimes by force.
You are welcomed just by being your beautiful selves.
Being a member definitely has its benefits. Like receiving a helping hand when your helmet keeps snapping shut when all you’d like to do is eat a roll. A swiped roll, at that.
So there it is. That’s what this Easter was to me. To us. Being able to open a neighbor’s door without knocking, walking right in to kick off our shoes, staying until babies were groggy and tired from being passed around, Beyblades were all battled out, and tummies were on the verge of exploding.
Yep. It’s all about…
What’s it to you?