Forgive my Easter thoughts…

It’s been (insert LARGE number here) days since my last confession.

Here is my sin—I don’t really understand Easter.

I never have.

My young Catholic mind was annually perplexed by the brief life of Jesus Christ. His birth was in December and then, by April, he would die a horrific death. In celebration of said, gruesome demise I was given a chocolate—pause for effect—bunny. Perhaps you, dear reader, had a better handle on these turns of events than I did, if so, I am happy for you.

Easter was so anti-climatic for me. In sharp contrast, the Christmas holiday had me looking forward to the receiving of gifts, seeing the family, and gorging myself on sweets, while the spring holiday forced me to give up something I loved for forty days in order to mold myself into a good Catholic.

Although, when the Lenten period ended, I hadn’t learned anything.

Okay, that’s not true. I learned to choose something less meaningful to give up the following year.

Ooooh, my shallow roots are showing. Don’t worry. I’m sure I will flog myself later over something ridiculous like purchasing and not making, painstakingly by hand, my daughter’s birthday invitations.

Forgive me. As a crafter/artist I have sinned.

Now that I am a grown-up, I do enjoy seeing my family for Easter. It’s always a blast to watch my oldest cousin, now 40, push small children aside as he rushes around, arms overflowing with plastic eggs in the classic Easter egg hunt (another mysterious, non-Jesus event.) I enjoy seeing my mother and her sisters sit and catch up, although this year, one will be missed. One sister will knit, her needles barely heard over the din of conversation, the other will hold her head in exhaustion from the preparations, and yet another will nod and smile, occasionally throwing her two cents into the flow. Another comfort is all the familiar Italian savories such as the braided bread, the ricotta (pronounced: ree-gaw-tuh) pie, the tasteless egg biscuits—which I just found out will not be made this year due to their lapse in popularity, and the lamb.

Ah, the lamb. Here is a metaphor I can sink my teeth into—if I wasn’t a vegetarian. The sacrificial lamb is served so that we will remember the one who died for our sins.

Even I can understand that. I admit… it’s quite a noble thing.

-Happy Easter to you all from your favorite mermaid