We had five of our grandchildren at our house for Easter Sunday supper and of course, an Easter egg hunt. I can just throw a bunch out on the lawn to keep the younger ones (two and fours) busy. The oldest is almost eight, and I had to level up my egg-hiding to challenge him.
This one loves to climb, so I used some tape to put one of his up high on the play fort. I’m not sure his mom was real happy about the altitude, but once he spotted it, he got up there with no problem.
A little more tape held some eggs underneath the deck of the play fort, just out of plain sight.
He quickly saw the one hanging from a tree with a pine needle pinched between egg halves hanging from an old bird-feeder hook.
The ones that stumped him? One was under an upside-down flower pot. Not hugely creative, but worked. The other was on the ground, under a pile of pine cones, with just the slightest hint of blue showing. I had to give him a couple of clues for these last two. Grandpa is still just a little cleverer than he is!
I reached over and found my phone and punched my finger all over the screen until the alarm stopped. I was already awake, just laying there waiting for the vibration and soft sounds that would have woken me up if I were still asleep. I could have sworn I turned the volume all the way down. My wife didn’t move. Maybe she didn’t hear it. She did. “That was loud.”
To be fair, I’ve got a new phone and this was the first time I’ve actually set the alarm to go off in the morning. One of the perks of retirement is that you don’t have to set an alarm. You can wake up whenever your body says, “I’ve had enough sleep.” However, I still wake up early, just like I used to. In fact, when I do set my alarm, I usually wake up a few minutes before it goes off. I rarely wake to the alarm. Why is that? How does my body know when to wake up? And why don’t I trust my body enough so that I don’t have to set an alarm?
I did a little internet research. Apparently it’s common for people to wake up just before the alarm goes off. If you usually get up at the same time each day, your “body clock” knows that and gets you going around that time. In addition, your subconscious knows you’ve set your alarm because you’ve got something going on and wakes you around the time you set on your alarm.
Well, my subconscious is pretty good at knowing what’s going on the next day. I don’t think I’ve ever overslept and been late in the morning. I never trusted my subconscious, though. When I positively, absolutely had to get up on a Sunday morning for church, I set two alarms. Just in case. I was never late for church.
And while we’re on the topic, here’s another thing that bothers me. Why does my mind wait until just before I wake up to have my most interesting and vivid dreams? Why do I dream the most just before I wake up? I’m sure there is some science behind this. Perhaps the most recent dreams are the ones I remember the most.
Anyway, I found out how to quiet down my alarm. It’s in settings, under “sounds and haptics.”
The yellows, greens, and pinks reached out to me, saying, “This way!” I had little choice but to follow my autonomous shopping cart into the maze of cellophane-wrapped Easter baskets. Fuzzy chicks and bunnies watched from the shelves, hoping to be chosen for a forever home. Yellow boxes filled with peanut butter eggs whispered to my subconscious, “These the the ones you’re looking for.” Rather than the stars in the sky or the grains of sand on the shore, God could have directed Abraham’s eyes to the myriad of jellybeans, promising, “Your family will number more than these!”
A couple of days from now, we’ll be filled with the joy of resurrection. Easter Sunday will celebrate the truth that Christ, not death, has the final word. Yes, we’ve adorned Easter with all these trappings and plenty of food. But none of that can drown out our voices proclaiming, “He is risen! He is risen, indeed!”
And yet, most of the people I saw in the Easter aisles at the various stores looked miserable. I did not see any smiles at all. Shoppers looked annoyed, frustrated, and tired as they scanned the shelves, shrugged their shoulders, and tossed a bag of whatever into their cart. If they had brought kids along it was worse. Angry voices scolded, “Put that back. Stop asking. One more time and you get nothing.”
Oh, come on! All of these things bring a smile to my face. In the retail world, every popular cartoon character has part in Easter, from Super Mario to the Avengers! I’m impressed by the creativity that goes into each year’s products. I don’t know about you, but the thought of Starburst jellybeans, Reese’s peanut butter eggs, marshmallow chocolate bunnies, and malted milk robin eggs makes me smile every year! I can’t wait for the fun we’ll have hiding and finding plastic eggs.
So here’s what I think. First, if it makes you miserable, you should just skip the holiday. It’s OK. The candy companies won’t go broke without you. Second, find someone (like me) who enjoys the holiday and find out why. Anyone with Easter joy is more than ready to give a reason for the hope they have. Finally, go back to the source of joy. It’s not stuff. It’s not candy. It’s not a bunny. Or eggs. It’s an empty tomb. Death has been defeated, sin has been forgiven, and God’s love endures forever.
Story time at the library was packed. When my grandson and I got in line, there were twenty preschoolers, parents, and grandparents ahead of us. There were enough sitting mats to go around, and we found our spot near the front of the room. I’m glad we did, because I enjoyed the three stories as much as anyone else in the room. Especially The Good Egg.
The Good Egg by Jory John and Pete Oswald made me laugh out loud over and over. It’s about a dozen eggs, one of who is good, joined by eleven others who misbehave and cause trouble. The good egg gets so stressed out trying to be the good one that his shell starts to crack. So he takes some time away for self care. Relaxation, meditation, and new hobbies soon have him feeling much better. But he’s lonely, so he heads back to join the others, having learned that you don’t have to be perfect in an imperfect world.
I am certain the children didn’t appreciate the story as much as the adults. We’re the ones who struggle with perfectionism, being judgmental, and putting up with difficult people. We grownups need to be reminded that a little self-care improves our capacity to understand the care for others, too.
I left story time wanting to read more children’s books. I want to read them to my grandchildren and for my self. I appreciate creative words and illustrations inspires my inner child and entertains the little one sitting in my lap.
When we grow up, we no longer see the world with the wonder, imagination, and curiosity of a child. But a children’s story can restore all of that like a fountain of youth.
I’m thankful my grandson likes to take me to story time.
Growing up, Easter was as exciting as Christmas. I had a hard time getting to sleep the night before. My brother, sister, and I all woke up way too early on Easter Sunday morning. Why? We couldn’t wait to get our Easter baskets! The church was always a part of our family life, but we never missed out on all the other good stuff, too.
I have no idea where the tradition came from, but every Easter our baskets would have a string tied to them. It was a treasure hunt. The string would wind around furniture, through different rooms, and finally lead us to a small present. The only specific present I remember receiving was a Matchbox bulldozer. I know, that has nothing to do with Easter, but I thought it was really cool.
In addition to the hard-boiled eggs we had dyed the day before, our baskets were filled with jellybeans, malted milk balls coated to look like candy eggs, a few marshmallow bunnies, and sometimes a solid chocolate bunny.
This one comes in sizes up to 64 oz!
My mom always ordered a special dark-chocolate covered coconut cream egg from a local candy store. A little larger than the size of a softball, I remember it weighing several pounds and was unbelievably sweet. Apparently, these eggs were a Philadelphia tradition. My mom always ate most of it, slicing off pieces like she was carving a roast.
When I walked through Walmart a few days ago, I saw four aisles devoted to Easter baskets, candy, decorations, and toys. It’s still very exciting. It’s very exciting for retailers, who predict we’ll spend $23 billion dollars on Easter this year. That’s every kind of chocolate candy you can imagine is wrapped for Easter. That’s why jellybeans come in so many flavors.
But I saw no solid bunnies. Just the hollow chocolate ones. The big coconut cream eggs? I would probably have to order one online. Other Easter candy? We’ve got plenty of that. Don’t worry, I’ll let the grandkids have some, too.
They weren’t dead after all. I got down on my knees, dug through the mulch and saw a little bit of green. There is still some life here!
The winter in northeast Florida had just enough freezing days to knock the life out of a lot of my yard plants. I thought I lost my hibiscus and crotons. They were nothing but brown sticks standing around the house. I needed to replace them.
I was not prepared for the high prices at the big box garden center. Inflation is alive and well. Nine dollars for a bag of dirt? Five dollars for a blooming quart sized annual? Six dollars for a pepper plant? Nine bucks for a croton? That was the small size. A big one will set you back $16.
I went back home to rethink my garden strategy. I went back out to the front yard and looked at the sticks in the ground. Being a glass half full kind of guy, I got up close and personal with them to see if there was any sign of life at all. And there was. Little tender green shoots were just beginning to reach up from the base of the sticks. I pulled back the mulch to give them better access to sunlight. I poured on some water and a little liquid fertilizer. I think they’re going to make it!
I’m going to start a lot of my own plants from seeds now too. I did a little research and it’s not hard to propagate crotons or just about any other plant. Remember putting a seed in a cup of dirt in kindergarten to grow a flower for mom? There’s another early education lesson that pays off later in life.
A lot of my neighbors don’t even try. I don’t see many colors in their yards when I go for a walk. Just green and brown. I’m not going to be that guy. I’ve got my sights set on the whole rainbow.
It’s Holy Week. I’m not preaching this year, but my garden is. The Creator cleverly embedded the message of resurrection in his creation. Nice job, God!
This week we watched two of our granddaughters while number three was being born. The couple of hours after morning preschool is designated quiet time at their house. The two-year old sleeps pretty well. The four-year old defines “quiet” differently than I do.
Yesterday’s primary quiet time activity was baking cookies. They were pre-made, pre-formed, pre-cut refrigerator cookies each featuring a unicorn. It only took her a few minutes to place each one on a parchment paper covered sheet pan. My wife popped them in the oven, leaving one hour and fifteen minutes of quiet time to go.
“Hey, grandpa, can you read me this story?” A book of five-minute Disney princess stories lay open on the coffee table.
“Sure.”
I love to read, and I love to read to children. I was as fascinated by the stories as she was. Each was tale of something that happened after the classic princess movie. Cinderella was competing in a horse show. Belle and a new friend were working on inventions. Ariel was planning her wedding to Prince Eric.
At the end of each one, she pointed to the next and said, “Now read this one.” My eyes get very heavy in the early afternoon, especially if I sit and read. Ordinarily I’d take a quick nap or do something active. Today I soldiered on. Three stories in, I had to pause, stand up, change position, and rub my eyes to continue reading about Mulan and Sleeping Beauty. The struggle to stay awake was real.
Finally the cookies were cool enough to eat. I welcomed the sugar rush. Then mom and dad walked in the door with the new baby.
She was fast asleep. I like your style, little one.
I was feeling confident about my culinary expertise when something as simple as cooking oil humbled me.
In my defense, it was not my kitchen, so I was using an unfamiliar pan, range, and ingredients. I was at my daughter’s house where my wife and I were staying with a couple of granddaughters while their mom gave birth to number three.
I brought a small ribeye steak with me for supper the first night. At home I would just throw it on the grill. No grill here, so I got ready to pan fry it. At home I would reach for my cast iron frying pan. My daughter had a very nice set of stainless steel cookware. A pan’s a pan, right?
I let it warm up on medium heat while I ground a little salt and pepper onto the meat. Holding my hand over the pan, I could tell it was ready. I grabbed the non-stick spray from the cabinet and gave the pan a quick shot. Even though I quickly took it off the burner, a cloud of smoke filled the kitchen. I turned on the fan only to discover it wasn’t vented to the outside. The smoke alarms started beeping, my wife open the sliding glass door to the backyard and tried to fan the bad smoke out and the good air in. The oldest granddaughter asked, “What are you doing, grandpa?”
It looked like I had no idea what I was doing. I did recover and the steak tasted great. The pan was a pain to clean. I had much to learn about cooking with oil.
I did some quick research online. If I’m are cooking at high temperatures, refined avocado, safflower, and light olive oil work well. At medium temperatures, use corn, coconut, sunflower, and canola oil. Vegetable shortening, extra virgin olive oil, and butter are for lower temperatures. I’ve got a lot to learn, though. Some of those oils taste better certain sauces, marinades, and dressings than others.
For the next two days, the odor of burning oil greeted my nose every time I walked into their house. However, as we packed up to leave today, the smell was just about all gone. Whew.
This afternoon I got to meet number nine – my ninth grandchild – in person. We’ve got a baseball team now. It’s always a special moment to hold a newborn, but even more so when it’s family.
We need these moments to say, “Hello!” in a world where we too often speak a graveside “Goodbye” to those we’ve loved for so long. A birth interrupts the news of another shooting, disease, storm, or war to remind us it’s not over yet. Life happens, too.
Fast asleep in her swaddle, I didn’t get to hear her voice, look into her eyes, tickle her toes, or let her tiny fingers wrap around mine. I’m looking forward to those moments.
This small person, completely dependent upon the care of her parents, will get whatever she wants, day or night, at least in the beginning. She will exert control over her family’s schedule, priorities, and activities. She is the main event, the headliner, Miss Popularity, and the keynote speaker all rolled into one. At least for now.
And we love it. We love these moments. And we love her. We hardly know her but she has captured our hearts. We wonder, “Where have you been?” She reminds us of how precious life is. Not just hers, but ours. And “those” people, too. (You know who I’m talking about.)
Her dad said she started yelling right away, announcing, “I’m here!” We’re glad you are. Welcome, little one.
Waite for it... 