Sunday 

16 April 2017

— A bright Easter morn

Good Morning All,

Yesterday, all the flags were up in people’s yards and on public buildings, but at half-mast to mourn the death of Jesus Christ. Whatever you may think of that notorious rabble-rouser, you gotta admit he had the juice to still be missed 1,984 years later.

Even though I no longer work, Sundays remain special to me. As a kid and all the way up through high school, I went with the rest of my family  to church every Sunday. In Sunday school, I can remember three times getting to color in purple-inked mimeographed drawings of Joseph in his coat. Older, sitting with my family during the service, I got to know the backs of the necks (and the moles on them) of nearly everyone else in the congregation. When a girl in my class sat in the pew in front of me or the one beside me, I gained a far better sense of what sin could be and the wondrous possibilities thereof.

The last fifty years or so, my first thought upon waking on the day of rest is usually, “It’s Sunday morning, and I do not have to go to church!” Half a century and still a delicious thought!

This morning was supposed to be rainy. I awoke to bright sunlight and a dusting of snow atop my car. The wire fence that separates the former-owner’s dog run and the rest of the backyard was hung with quivering crystalline water drops, one long sparkling tiara.

Since it is Easter, I offered to take Esther to her church, lend her an arm up the hill, and stay for the service.  She is as game as she always is, but the hill is steep. She is considering the idea.

In preparation, I read most of the Book of Matthew last night, as a quick refresher course. Fascinating fellow, Jesus. He makes sense much of the time, and then suddenly seems way out there in left field somewhere.

If Esther decides the clouds coming in will bring the predicted rain or if her bronchitis cough is worse this morning, we’ll skip the service. But I still get to go over to her apartment at 1:00 for one of her quintessential Easter dinners with lamb chops, mint jelly, and all the trimmings. 

And this evening, I may watch a couple of the thirteen backyard Easter-Egg-Hunt home movies we made over the years. Except that the kids get bigger each year, they are all identical; they all include some bearded guy doing his best to juggle three eggs at once.

Go Well and Stay Well,

Bhekaron