Yesterday was an Easter gift. Today we’re back to a sun-less day with white gray skies, but it is still warm at 56° so I have a few upstairs windows open. I awoke this morning to the sounds of birds. I can’t think of a more delightful way to greet the day.
Dinner was spectacular yesterday. We sat in the bar waiting for our table and from the windows we could see only water making us feel as if we were on an Easter cruise. Our dinner table was in the main dining room by a window where we could see the shells and sand. We watched the tide come in along the break-way. We toasted the day. It deserved recognition.
Mondays have a stigma attached. I don’t have to drag myself out of bed any more, but Mondays still have nothing redeemable. Friday used to be my favorite day, but now I have no favorites. I like them all except Monday. I don’t even have much energy today, but I do need to get out for a few things, the in-between stuff I run out of before a massive grocery run. I need bread.
The day after Easter meant a half eaten bunny in my basket. I ate the small stuff, the jelly beans and hard eggs, but I left the bunny until last. He was always the star.
I have a special fondness for sugar cookies, and for most big holidays my mother would make batches of them. I remember waiting and waiting until they were cool enough so I could eat one, unfrosted. I remember the bottoms of the cookies were always a light brown, and when I first made my own, that’s what I looked for when I checked to see if they done. For Easter my mother made eggs and rabbits. Sometimes we’d help decorate. The rabbits were just white, but it was the eggs which brought out our creativity. We’d try and frost them with designs and lots of colors. I was never very good with the decorator bag. More frosting got on me than the cookies, but it really never mattered how they looked. They always tasted just right.
