Long live the Bunny
Since we last spoke, Miss Trixie and Ol’ Dutch successfully navigated our way into Mexico.
We had a good, albeit long trip to see the dentist and, while we were there, poor Miss Trixie had to have a wisdom tooth pulled out.
Now while many a child has had four of those bothersome teeth removed with nary a complaint, Miss Trixie seems to be of a more genteel nature and so she was laid up somewhat.
Well at least she didn't eat like normal and when Ol’ Dutch tried to initiate a conversation with her, she would respond with tight lips never even moving her mouth. It was an amazing display of ventriloquism.
Ol’ Dutch was so impressed he asked her if she wanted him to get her a dummy. And with pursed lips she made some snide remark about already having one — me.
All went well and now we’re back at the Texas farm in time for Easter, which is an important holiday for Christians and non-Christians around the world. For that is the day when stores stock up on all manner of chocolate candies to be severely discounted on the following day.
If that is not a reason to celebrate, I don’t know what is. Nothing says happiness like day-old chocolate bunnies, cream-filled eggs, malted eggs, hollow eggs and the requisite dye-colored hard-boiled eggs we all make.
There is something about dying eggs that brings back such fond memories from childhood as we dipped the normally edible eggs in poisonous dyes so we could eat them with gusto.
For weeks after Easter, any potluck dinner at the church would include lots of deviled eggs in various hues as women tried to pawn off their oversupply of colored goodies on the rest of the congregation. Which brings to mind another thought: does bringing deviled eggs to church really make much sense?
Well, I guess that's a conversation for another day but certainly needs to be addressed in the next overview of church doctrine.
You may wonder just where the inclusion of eggs and especially that old rascally Easter Bunny began. It appears that none other than the Roman Emperor Constantine began including pagan symbols into the Christian church including the worship of fertility – hence eggs and those naughty, prolific rabbits.
Some churches still today seem to be caught up in the egg deal and try to include it in their services.
One pastor announced from the pulpit that “Miss Minnie will now come and lay an egg on the altar.” I can guarantee you that all the old men that were asleep at the time suddenly bolted upright in the pews to see her do just that.
Heck even Ol’ Dutch, as churched as I would pay good money to see any woman lay an egg in the sanctuary.
But today, we have seemed to have distanced ourselves far from those early pagan roots and simply have adopted the lowly hare and eggs for a fun time with the kids. For we gather in yards and public parks to hide eggs for all the local kids to find and enjoy.
Gone are the dyed eggs of my youth which were first replaced by solid plastic eggs purchased by parents and which were reusable year after year. Why, just finding one was the joy of the day and kids filled baskets to overflowing with the multi-colored petroleum manufactured oblongs.
But then someone came up with the idea that kids were not sufficiently spoiled and, in a way, to also make more money began making those two-part plastic eggs which required the insertion of candy into each one.
Not only did this require more work, but it also meant that parents can no longer just trot out the shells from year to year but now must purchase candy to put in each one. Great marketing if I must say so myself.
Ol’ Dutch has long past the time when he had small children at home so hiding the eggs on Easter Morning is no longer needed around my house. However, Miss Trixie said that as old as I am getting that maybe this year, I can hide my own Easter Eggs.
And she may be right as I cannot even find the package I bought at the store last week. Long live the Bunny!
Kevin Kirkpatrick and his Yorkie, Cooper, fish, hunt, ATV or hike daily. His email is [email protected] Additional news can be found at www.troutrepublic.com.