- I have a new and profoundly greater respect for people who earn their living writing every day.
- Being creative, clever, witty, topical and/or informative every day - or even simply on a regular basis - is, at best, difficult and challenging. At least it has been for me.
- Blogging anonymously while using the forum to make critical social commentary is gutless and it is irresponsible. It's voyeurism at it's most base, and it has become all too common in the blogosphere. I wasn't adding value, and I was becoming (more) cynical.
- I should be writing NOT because I need to get something off my chest (better left for the confessional or shrink's couch), but because I need to write. And because I want to share.
So, I'm back. Less negative social commentary - unless it's self-deprecating. Topics that are more upbeat and hopefully uplifting. (I'm predisposed to sarcasm, so I will endeavor to resist the temptation - unless it would genuinely contribute to humor.) Off I go.
I celebrated Easter this past weekend like millions of others around the world. In and of itself, that's not significant. However, one element of our family's celebration stands out that some people might find interesting. My adult son and daughter - ages 19 & soon-to-be-22 respectively - requested an Easter egg hunt. When my wife informed me, I was like, "Are you kidding?" Suddenly, my cranky side emerged. Why? Because selfishly, the last thing I wanted to do for the umpteenth consecutive Easter morning was trudge around my dew-covered yard, dodging piles of dog you-know-what, and trying to find yet another batch of clever hiding places in which to stash stupid little plastic eggs, while my big kiddies slumber away the morning.
How many years have I been doing this? Twenty, if not more! Next thing you're going to tell me is they also want us to leave a couple carrots out overnight for a certain Mr. E. Bunny! Get outta here! They're registered voters for crying out loud! Once more, instead of relaxing on the lanai with a steaming mug of java and my morning paper, seranaded by the osprey, cardinals, mocking birds and redheaded woodpeckers, I'll be attempting to conceal a hundred-or-so (seems like a thousand!) annoying plastic orbs in which Mom has graciously inserted varying amounts of our hard-earned cash and clever little fortune-cookie-like notes, all so that my overindulged offspring can cling ever-so-tightly to their youth. Bah humbug!
As I rounded the corner of the house for what seemed like the 50th time, trying to find one last hiding place for one last egg, and by now sweating like I just spent an hour in a sauna, it hit me. So what, ya big Scrooge? So what, if your still-living-at-home adult children want to race around the yard like a couple of giggling adolescents trying to beat each other by collecting the most eggs? Why the hell not? Have you paid attention to all those headlines and stories you read every day in your precious newspaper? Being a grown-up isn't all it's cracked up to be these days, Daddy-O. So what, if your kids want to be kids again for an hour on Easter morning? Cut 'em some slack! On Monday they go back to trying to find their way in a very complicated world and being held accountable like the rest of us. God bless 'em for wanting to hold on to a little piece of happier, simpler times! Rue the day when they ask no more! (Wow, self-served humble pie for breakfast. So mature!)
Well, I found a place for that last egg. Then Mom and I went about our remaining Easter Day chores: she, tidying up the house and filling vessels with Cadbury eggs, jelly beans and other tasty morsels, and I, preparing our Easter feast. As it turns out, hours would pass before the kids finally set out for the hunt (young adults keep late nights, you know!). They didn't roll out of bed until early afternoon, and there was the task of coloring real eggs first. Finally, mid-afternoon, as I was preparing to put the lamb on the grill, bags in-hand, they rushed outside and for the next hour or so, my grown-up kids were simply big kids. In typical fashion, Big Sis - she being "the competitive one" - hoarded more eggs than Li'l Bro (it seems to have become a tradition at some point), and secured bragging rights for yet another year. The odds were in her favor that she'd have the egg containing the $5 bill, and sure enough, as she pried open what seemed like her 500th egg, there he was: Honest Abe. Momentary glee (not the TV show), followed by a look of genuine satisfaction. Across the room, all Little Brother could do was shake his head, toss back a few more jelly beans and hope for better luck next year. Soon, we shared an excellent dinner, then, fully sated, I retired to the lanai for a cigar, another glass of wine and the company of my back-to-being-a-young-adult son and his guitar. Not a bad way to finish the day.
You know, maybe next year, I'll request that they hide a few eggs for me.
Happy to be writing again,
T. Stauffer, Wishin' I Was Fishin'
