Theme Thursday: Egg

Many years ago, when L was just a tot, a friend and neighbor would open her house for a pysanky egg decorating party. She had many sets of the styluses, beeswax, and various dye baths set all over her house and any and all were engrossed in making something lovely.

We were in New England, and it would still be wet and cold, often snow likely. And it was fun to catch up with others we hadn't seen all winter.



While rummaging around for some of the eggs we made (yes, of course I keep everything) I found this little Easter craft book and, lo and behold, a psyanky kit, never used, mint in box, as they say.

I think I know what we'll be up to on Saturday . . .

Finally, a poem, from a different angle:

Easter
–Jim Harrison

On Easter morning all over America
the peasants are frying potatoes in bacon grease.

We're not supposed to have "peasants"
but there are tens of millions of them
frying potatoes on Easter morning,
cheap and delicious with catsup.

If Jesus were here this morning he might
be eating fried potatoes with my friend
who has a '51 Dodge and a '72 Pontiac.

When his kids ask why they don't have
a new car he says, "these cars were new once
and now they are experienced."

He can fix anything and when rich folks
call to get a toilet repaired he pauses
extra hours so that they can further
learn what we're made of.

I told him that in Mexico the poor say
that when there's lightning the rich
think that God is taking their picture.
He laughed.

Like peasants everywhere in the history
of the world ours can't figure out why
they're getting poorer. Their sons join
the army to get work being shot at.

Your ideals are invisible clouds
so try not to suffocate the poor,
the peasants, with your sympathies.
They know that you're staring at them.