Skip to main content

The Alter-Easter



Easter Sunday dinner was at my house. We had two new faces in our crowd. My sister, Renee' appears to have a new beau (Dan) and my brother's girlfriend brought her grown daughter (Raena). It was great. We had a new audience for all the old shtick. Mom got to tell (some) of the embarrassing stories that she loves to embellish upon year after year and I got new victims (er, friends) to cook for.

This year, through the wonders of the internet, I learned to cook my ham in the crock pot. Also new to my Easter repertoire is fresh baked cherry pies with Vienna vanilla ice cream on top AND chocolate-dipped strawberries. I also took the opportunity to use some very old china formerly owned by my former-mother-in-law (which will be passed down to my daughter).

Kind of an odd holiday without the presence of small children to decorate for and put together imaginative Easter baskets. I didn't put up any tacky decorations save for the Easter Lily Rod bought for me and the tulips growing out in my yard. I even resisted the huge urge I had to go out and buy new cloth napkins and place mats to accommodate a party of 10.

All in all, this was a pretty down-to-Earth affair for us. Although I get pretty amped-up with de-cluttering, cleaning, cooking, and re-arranging furniture. God help those that are nearest to me that decide they don't have to pitch in to help with the effort (as my loving husband found out...again.)

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Lashing Out

Fed up. Sick of hearing, "I'm sorry."  Apologies don't erase the pain you inflict on me. You pull my pubic hair. Your nitrile gloves pull the hair from my head. Not once in a while but day in and day out. You turn me in a manner that suits you rather than in a manner that doesn't stress my body. Why won't you use the pad and sheet to turn me as one unit? Instead, you allow my body to twist as you hold me one-handed. How good you are at your job. What part of "my muscles are dying" don't you understand?

Fall

Orange, gold, rust, burnt sienna, ochre, raw umber; the riot of fall colors, in the trees and at our booted feet; a drive in the countryside; the taste of hot apple cider on my lips; the satisfaction of a truckload of firewood we gathered and cut ourselves; elk herds on the move; hearty stews, savory soup, crusty whole-grain bread, pumpkin and gingerbread spice lattes; these are the memories I tap into the most this time of year. Cabela's fliers in the mailbox; Carhart's camo-clad hunters swarm outlying areas; mushroom garthering; huckleberry picking; logger burgers; forest service roads; cheese sandwiches on the woodstove; warm quilts, cool sheets, and flannel nightgowns; cold butt, warm heart.  Immensely grateful to have the well of memories to draw upon.

Shards Cling To

I just met my new psychologist and I already like her. I would say that it is effortless to talk to her, but talking to anyone through an augmentative and alternative communication (AAC) device takes a great deal of effort. One must think about what to say and drill it down concisely and succinctly, Then attempt to type it out with your eyes on a wonderous, but infuriating machine, and hope you nail the 'Speak' button, and not the 'Cancel' button. You're praying that the device doesn't spontaneously, disengage the eye gaze, leaving you mute and helpless. You're also praying that the calibration holds and your eyes don't tire or dry out. Aside from all of that, she did not overwhelm me with rapid fire questions, nor invade my personal space, by insisting on reading while I'm writing, instead of allowing me to "speak". Those things are huge. Counseling somebody with my disabilities, present unique challenges. I have major physical deficit...