Easter

68 years

There are 68 years between the youngest member of our family, my two-year-old niece, and my dad. With every new grand child, we get to see our parents and our kids bond. Each one a little differently. During the Easter egg hunt at Mom & Dad's, my niece soon sorted out the path to many an egg: Grandpa.

While Grandpa may have started out leading the way, he was soon working to keep up with her. I followed them snapping pictures. They were in their own little world, youngest and oldest. Both enjoying the thrill of the hunt, they were wide-eyed looking for the eggs.

My niece on little feet that bounced over the ground. My dad in work boots that lightened as he followed her bounce. When she spotted an egg out of reach, she turned, put her arms up, and Grandpa lifted her to the egg. Her big blue eyes spoke to his soft blue eyes with an occasional, "Up Grandpa!"

And when it came to counting the eggs and checking for the goodies, Grandpa was just as serious about the business as my niece was. With a few hundred miles between us, I'm not often privy to those little connections between my parents and all their grand kids. I don't know what their "thing" is. But on this day, it was Easter eggs.

When my boys were two, Will looked for surprises in Grandpa's bib overall pockets, and Liam learned how to hold a pencil under his nose by curling his lip up. While 50-pound Will doesn't sit on Grandpa's lap often to dig through those pockets, Liam still runs for a pencil when Grandpa is on Skype.

I don't remember my grandpa's voice. But I still have the little red pencil he gave me the last time we talked. I was 10. I remember walking through the barnyard with him looking for all the materials to make a corncob pipe. And I can nearly taste the Dairy Queen vanilla cone that we rode 10 miles in his Oldsmobile to get after school.

Something for Every One

Sitting for a quiet half hour in the dentist's chair yesterday, I gathered these thoughts for this Hump Day. During February break, the boys and I went to a robotic dinosaur exhibit at the science museum in Manchester, NH. A caution sign hung outside a partially hidden exhibit: "Warning, Carnivore Scene." At the Currier Art Museum across town, the European art gallery with numerous vivid, bloody works depicting Christ on the cross should have had a similar warning. I did not find convincing Easter words to shatter those graphic images etched on a 7-yr-old's mind. The melancholy of Good Friday and the rejoicing of Easter all sat heavily with me this year. I resorted to Cadbury's chocolate eggs.

We went to Portland, Maine for Easter weekend. In the Children's Museum, my sons and I climbed into a life-sized blow-up humpback whale. The guide pointed out body parts from the inside and explained how whales and humans are both mammals: "Where did you grow? Inside your mommy's tummy, right?" Liam glanced at me, opened his mouth, then closed it. I think we both may have been thinking, "Ack, what the heck does she know?" Fleetingly, I thought 'biological birth whale mother?' I let it go.

The weekend started out with something for every one but nothing for everyone. Boutique shopping for me. A brewery for Bill. A swimming pool for Will & Liam. I even thought we all might enjoy a workshop in making tempura paints out of egg yolks. In reality, that was for me. Sunday morning we rose, packed up, and went to Mackworth Island to hike the circular cliff and see the fairy houses in the woods. However, we had a change of plans. A pleasant surprise: Low tide.

Finally, there was the something for everyone. Our first day at the beach this year. Rock climbing, shell seeking, playing football, rock collecting, rock throwing. Even a glance at a fisher cat, apparently a common but mean little creature in New England.

That good dose of sea air blew out the sticky cobwebs that were globbing up the transition between winter and spring. Today, the snowmen are going into the winter storage tub to make room for dafs on the mantel.

Happy Hump Day!

Easter Sunday

Easter Sunday was a great day. In Iowa, four-plus hours working with Mom & Dad outside trimming 10-foot high bushes, transplanting flowers, and cultivating a 20-acre field. This morning, Monday the 9th, I decided yesterday could most definitely count as cross-training in preparation for the Avon Walk, particularly the trimming and digging: my upper body had a great workout. As for cultivating the cornfield, I convinced Dad to let me do it. The cultivating was much easier than the convincing. Inspiration: a pick-up truck, electric hedge trimmers, long-handled trimmers, and a big International tractor.

Two years ago this week, I finished radiation. The things I did yesterday were impossible then. "Every morning is Easter morning from now on... Every morning is Easter morning, the past is over and gone..." Part of a song I remember singing as a teen leading the 6 a.m. sunrise service at church. I found myself humming it most of the day yesterday. Easter Sunday was a celebration of life... His and, selfishly, mine.