Another Easter has come and gone without me dying eggs the way Martha wants me to. Dammit, Martha! Your excitement for this holiday rivals my un-excitement for it.
I don’t know why I don’t like Easter. It’s not for lack of effort. Our mom would hide Easter eggs in our den (most people do this outside but whatever) and then the rest of us would hunt for them, all five of us, in one small room in our church clothes.* Then we would settle into a lunch of tinted egg salad sandwiches and split pea soup. What’s not to like? Maybe it’s because I’ve never ever had an employer that observes the mysterious “Easter Monday,” or because I’m not particularly religious or because ham is just gross.
Instead, Easter Weekend 2010 at my house was all about gardening and spring cleaning, during which I came across this journalistic gem from the summer of 2000. It’s me and Susan writing about the Hill Cafe in Punchline! Launching our respective careers by hanging out at a bar and writing odes to that bar on bev naps (and probably a few phone numbers too, heh heh).
Let’s go back a little further for additional evidence of collaboration.
Now, see, if I had spent the weekend drawing complicated stencils on yet-to-be-dyed eggs, I would never have found these in mybasement while drinking beer and listening to music. !! Stay tuned for some posts that actually have a purpose.
*Sometimes we wouldn’t find all of them (we were THAT good) and then one would turn up in July or, possibly, the following Easter.