“And I love a scary movie. It makes your toes curl and it’s not you going through it.”

Today is no different from yesterday or the day before or the day before that one. My deck still has its winter look. None of the furniture is uncovered, and the candles are yet to be hung from the trees. This cold and damp weather doesn’t invite the deck’s summer finery. I go out and fill the feeders then hurry back in cold from the dampness. It rained again last night, and I have a parade of paw prints across my kitchen floor. I’ll throw in a Pollyanna moment here and say there is an upside. My lawn looks green and lush.

Gracie and I are dump bound today, and I decided I might as well ruin the entire day by going grocery shopping.

If we count activity as productivity, this was a lazy week. Every chance I got, I read and yesterday I finished the Lincoln Vampire book. It was an odd one, and I’d be careful about to whom I’d recommend it. The list of people would be quite short. A suspension of disbelief  is entirely necessary.

I think we are all born with a suspension of disbelief then, as we get older, we stop believing in wonders and get skeptical and scoff. Away goes Santa, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy. Nothing replaces them. Our world becomes less filled with anticipation and a holiday is just a holiday. A once scary movie is made fun of and did you notice the Creature from the Black Lagoon wears a scuba tank? I didn’t. I love those old movies, and I always fail to notice their blemishes. I count myself lucky for that.

I admit being skeptical about many things. I don’t believe in ghosts, never did even when I was little. Things that went bump in the night gave me pause, but ghosts were never my first guess. I thought the Hook was more likely the reason for the noise. That story scared me to the roots of my being. The idea of his hook hanging from the car door seemed awful close to reality.

I love the books of Stephen King and Dean Koontz. A strange sound still gives me pause. That suspension of disbelief has never left me, and I am extremely grateful.

“Easter spells out beauty, the rare beauty of new life.”

I always think Easter Sunday should be sunny and even warm, all the better to show off all those new clothes. It’s cloudy right now, but I think the sun is struggling to break through the grayness. Gracie and I had an adventure earlier this morning. We sneaked down to my friends’ house and decorated the tree near their deck. We do it every year. This year was a streamer of eggs from branch to branch, some wooden rabbits doing gardening hanging off the small branches and decorative eggs on sticks stuck into their pansies right by the door. They haven’t seen them as their backdoor is still closed so they’re not awake yet. This is the only time of year I can see all the way down to the end of the street.

When I was little, Easter morning never had the same degree of excitement as Christmas morning, but we’d still run to find our baskets. We’d munch on jelly beans as we checked out everything one at a time. The chocolate rabbit was always the most prominent standing tall as it did in the basket. There were coloring books and crayons or small toys and always a stuffed animal, usually a rabbit or even a duck, wearing a hat and sometimes a colored vest. We’d play and munch until my mother dragged us away to get ready for mass.

Easter was always a big day in church. The haphazard members of the congregation only went on Christmas and Easter so the pews were filled. I remember the church looked festive on Easter Sunday as lent was finally over. Tall white lilies in pots were on the steps to the altar and by the rail in the front. The statues were uncovered, and the priest wore white. The rest of us wore mostly pastels and hats were a necessary accessory. Men had fedoras and women had hats with veils. Boys had none, but we girls wore hats with flowers or ribbons. The church was awash with colors in every pew.

Some Easter Sundays we’d go to visit my grandparents. The house was filled with my aunts, uncles and cousins. My grandmother always had chocolate for us, usually a small rabbit, as an Easter gift.  We’d run up and down the two sets of stairs chasing each other while the adults stayed in the kitchen on the bottom floor. My grandfather always hid in his room away from the tumult.

My father usually hustled us out the door in the early evening and we’d fall asleep on the way home, exhausted by the festivities of the day and all those stairs.

“Easter spells out beauty, the rare beauty of new life.”

Today is glorious, filled with sun, warmth and the songs of birds. Not a branch stirs in the stillness of the day. Earlier, I sneaked down the street to my friends’ house, added decorations to their egg tree from last year, new glass birds, and left their Easter baskets. Well, I didn’t really leave them, the Easter Bunny did. I just helped a little. My street is just so quiet that Gracie and I saw no one on our little jaunt.

From my window here, I can see bright yellow goldfinches at the feeders. Their color seems to celebrate the joy of spring and the arrival of Easter. Today is just so beautiful.

Happy Easter!

We always went to mass early on Easter. We’d don our new clothes, my mother would snap a few pictures and off we’d go. It was agony to leave our baskets behind, but we’d sneak a few jelly beans in pockets or purses. The jelly beans of my day were huge, and they all tasted the same no matter the color. We didn’t mind. I’m not even sure we noticed. The highlight of every basket was the giant chocolate bunny standing in the middle. I was an ears first eater. The straw was always green plastic, and the bunny once I’d gnawed on it would sometimes have grass stuck to it. We carried those baskets all around with us until it was time to leave for my grandparents’ house. My mother was one of eight children, only two of whom still lived at home, so on the big holidays my grandmother’s house was filled. Cousins were plentiful. My grandmother always had Easter treats for each of us so we felt the loss of our baskets less keenly. On the really nice days, encouraged by parents who decided we needed air, we’d sit outside on the stoop always careful not to get stains on our new clothes. We’d stay all afternoon.

I swear that all the Easters dawned bright and sunny and warm. I know that’s not true, but that’s how I remember them.

“Here comes Peter Cottontail right down the bunny trail…”

Today is gray and rainy. When I went to get the newspapers, it was misting. The temperature is only45°. I really don’t want much, only a warm, sunny day. I’ll even take just one. The birds haven’t dropped by to visit though the feeders are filled. I did see a red spawn of Satan sitting in one of my feeders. I scared it away though I know it will be back.

Easter Eve was never like Christmas Eve. The Easter Bunny always played second fiddle to Santa Claus. We did spend today, the Saturday before Easter, coloring eggs. We used wax and wrote our names on some of them before dipping them into the dye. I still remember the egg holder in the refrigerator was lined with colored hard boiled eggs after Easter. It was always kind of neat to eat one. The big excitement for Easter was always new clothes. We wore uniforms to school so we didn’t need too many dresses or skirts and new clothes were an infrequent treat. I always thought the best part of the new clothes was they weren’t presents. I hated getting clothes for Christmas. I always figured they were taking the place of some neat toy or game.

Our baskets were on the kitchen table though I think I remember a few years when they were left by the Easter Bunny on our bureaus. My mother always made them up herself. A huge chocolate rabbit was always front and center. Jelly beans were strewn all through the plastic grass which clung to everything. There were multi-colored hard eggs which had a hard white center. Wrapped chocolate eggs were also hidden in the grass. Coloring books, new crayons, wooden paddles with a red ball on an elastic, a stuffed animal and other small toys were also in the basket. We’d check out our baskets then head right to the candy. The ears were always the first to go.

I’d go to my parents’ house every Easter, and I always made each of them a basket. It had their favorite candy and whatever neat little things I could find. My dad always got a word search book and my mother got a crossword puzzle book. I used to sneak into their room and leave the baskets on their bureaus. They never once caught the Easter Bunny!

“My childhood smells like a box of Crayola crayons.”

‘Tis a dreary day, cloudy and still. Last night was cold and some of it has lingered into the morning. Gracie’s coat feels chilly when she comes inside the house. Weekdays are quiet in my neighborhood.

My crayons were kept in a cigar box. The inside top and sides of the box were a panoply of colors. My crayons ranged from full size to barely big enough to hold. I never threw crayons away. I just couldn’t. I’d tear off the paper as they got smaller and smaller and then choose by hue rather than name. Every Christmas we’d find a familiar green and yellow box in our stockings. Nothing but Crayola Crayons would do. Any others were mere imitators. I liked it when the box came with a sharpener. Crayons with points made it easier to stay in the lines. I always thought white was a wasted color. I couldn’t see it on the coloring book page, and I had to run my finger over the spot to feel the crayon marks. The Christmas coloring books always had lots of pages of Santa with his white beard and his red suit trimmed in white, and I’d use my white crayon for the sake of my art.

By the time my Christmas crayons had become mere stubs, I’d get a new box in my Easter basket. Easter coloring books were my favorites. The eggs could be one or even multi-colored. The Easter Rabbit always wore a short jacket and most times I’d color it blue. I think the reason was the Peter Rabbit influence.

The biggest box of Crayola crayons was 64 when I was a kid. It had neat colors like forest green and, one of my personal favorites, raw umber, which no longer exists in a crayon box. Legions of kids will no longer know the color of umber.

I have some sets of crayons. One is a commemorative set of all the colors, including those retired over time. Raw umber is there along with lemon yellow and maize. That box is a keepsake, a piece of my childhood.

For Halloween this year, I am giving out boxes of crayons. I never give out candy; kids get enough of it everywhere else. The box is a small one with just five crayons, but five colors are enough to fill in just about any page in a coloring book.