of Easter bun­nies and roasted rab­bits, bells and boats

-- April 13th, 2015 --
reflected stained glass

Isn’t this a mys­te­ri­ous image?  Every after­noon, slightly ear­lier every day now as the days get longer, this design floats across the wall in our front hall­way, reflected from the stained glass win­dow in the front door.  A lit­tle bit of acci­den­tal magic, every day.

No one appre­ci­ates the spring sun more than Tacy.

tacy sun

Except per­haps for Keechie.

keechie sun

I have a con­fes­sion to make, one which would make my daugh­ter sever all ties with me if she knew: I really like exam sea­son, hers, that is.  And since this is our last one, I’ll explain why: she’s home all the time, which as flying-the-nest fast approaches, is a very lux­u­ri­ous thing.  Although I’m really not meant to dis­tract her, it’s fright­fully easy when she’s sit­ting with her piles of books just to men­tion some­thing I wanted to ask her, her opin­ion about some­thing, what she’d like for din­ner.  And she’s right there.  Very pleasant.

Mind you, not so much for her.

ireland books

What she doesn’t know about you-know-what surely can­not be worth know­ing.  There are over 150 events that she’s deter­mined to remem­ber, span­ning the years on the Emer­ald Isle between 1798 and 1921.  And now her father and I are pretty close to know­ing them too, absorb­ing them almost acci­den­tally as she works through ideas out loud.  Where she gets the capac­ity for com­pil­ing all this infor­ma­tion, the atten­tion span for mem­o­riz­ing it all, not to men­tion the energy for think­ing deeply about it all, I can’t imag­ine.  That part of my brain was taken over long, long ago by the con­tents of hun­dreds of pic­ture books, and is now occu­pied with the four­teen dif­fer­ent types of rice in my pantry and what they could be used for.

Easter has come and gone, our last with a kid at home to get an Easter bas­ket, I sup­pose.  All these mile­stones!  She was per­fectly happy this year to join in.

avery eggs 2015

The rit­ual was com­fort­ing in its famil­iar­ity — I never think we have enough eggs, John thinks we have too many, we always wish we had some white eggs, but we never do.  How to keep the shells from crack­ing?  This year, John insti­tuted a novel “steam, don’t boil” pol­icy, and it was effec­tive.  “What is this weird ‘gloss,’ do you think?” John asks, wav­ing a small plas­tic packet we’ve found in the Easter sup­plies John’s mother always brings us in the sum­mer.  “Any why would any­one want to tie-dye an egg?”  Food col­or­ing is good, too.

egg dyeing

Some of the cre­ations had a dis­tinctly intel­lec­tual flair.  Green for Ireland!

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