Easter 2026

Sheila must be pissed, because this broom business has been going on all week. People are complaining about the weather, but they know this is the good stuff; a lady coming out of the post office caught me stomping all over the lawn because the firm slush felt so satisfying to smush, and she started doing it, too.

Anyway, now I’m sick. This probably has more to do with having a school-aged kid than playing in the snow, but it happened just in time for all the stores to close for the holiday weekend. I rationed the last few DayQuil capsules in the medicine bin and dragged my carcass around getting the eggs boiled for dying and the baskets hidden. On Easter morning we ate creamed eggs and watched bluejays visit the bird feeder for bits of biscuit.

I put some egg slices out for the crows, and one came down from the tree, waffled around nervously because it could see us watching from inside the house, then retreated to the deck to call the others for help. There are four crows in our backyard murder squad, and I’m calling that one Sir Robin.

We talked to family most of the day, and the boys managed to walk Zenny through setting up Minecraft on the old laptop so they could play as a group while I put the roast in and made popovers. I threw some scraps out for the crows, “A blessing! A blessing from the Lord!” Zenny yelled at me from the living room to stop talking to the birds. I will not. When I was 10, some girls at summer camp yelled at me to stop talking to the horses, and I made up my mind right then to talk to all the animals, forever and ever, the end. I didn’t understand why they would get mad about something I was doing that didn’t affect them even one little bit, or how anyone could get up close to an animal and not want to connect with it. Life is bills and work and cleaning and cooking and child care and health problems and grief, and then we go back to being dead. Let a person talk to an animal. Goddamn. 

She experimented with snow dying and ended up with brown sludge, but she had fun

Need a gravy boat

I ran out of DayQuil and I am loaded on robitussin, so I know better than to trust my brain right now. I’m missing people. My sons, my cats, dead people, old friends. I haven’t connected with anyone here yet, and maybe I don’t want to. One of my online friends invited me to a group chat to share “joys”, and I can’t hit the button to join. I’m still blowing on this smoldering coal, trying to get it going again. I don’t have any fire to share yet.

And that is my cue to get this body to bed. 

Happy Easter.