I think I’ve cracked the code
I might be on to something here.
As Easter drew near this year, something began brewing. What if, my wife proposed, we did Easter on Saturday this year.
I politely informed her that Easter was always on a Sunday. She then gave me “The Look” (©Shelly Hardin, 1993, All rights reserved) and explained that she only meant the traditional Easter Dinner, Egg Hunt, and Family Get-Together that always accompanies the holiday. Her sister was in town for Saturday only, there was a threat of bad weather on Sunday while Saturday was supposed to be pretty, there wouldn’t be the hassle of rushing around after church, etcetera, etcetera.
I mulled it over (only briefly, since I knew the die had already been cast) and agreed it would be just fine. So, it was set. And come Easter Eve (is that what it’s called? I dunno), we headed for “The Hill” (©The Ramsey Family, 1922, All rights reserved), and commenced with our Easter celebration.
It was indeed a lovely day. My parents, all my kids, the sisters and their kids and the in-laws and such were all there, and it was great. We hunted eggs (there were more than 300 in all, and I’m sure at least 250 of them were recovered). We cooked out, we played volleyball. It was great. But wait, there’s more…
The real kicker came Sunday. We had a wonderful Easter service at good ol’ Marion First Baptist Church. Good music, a good message, some special skits… And then it was over…
And we had nothing to do.
Think about the last major holiday where you had family obligations or other entanglements to deal with. Now imagine it’s that holiday, and all the stuff you had to do was already done.
So, instead of playing the “run home, change clothes, get the food, drive to Mamaw’s, eat, drink, be merry, drive home, pass out” game, we headed over to Double J’s West, ate a nice leisurely meal, went home, took a nap, watched some TV, and just sort of hung out. That evening, we went over and played cards with some friends, went home, watched “The Walking Dead” and called it a night.
I am perfectly willing to try this at Christmas.
Ralph Hardin is the Editor of the Evening Times and is already looking forward to celebrating this year’s Third of July ( © Ralph Hardin, 2016, All rights reserved).
Somewhere in the middle
By Ralph Hardin