An American Easter, Reframed

I always struggle a bit with the Easter story.  But, for some reason, on this early Easter morning's walk, I found a way to make more sense of it.  Really, I told myself, it's the ultimate American story, a tale of second chances and obstacles overcome.

After making my peace with this reframing, I was nearly clipped by a great-horned owl, as it whooshed by me to begin its own egg hunt, this one framed deep within my neighbor's pine.  I stood-- breathless and silent--across the street from the mayhem as feathers fluttered and grackles complained mightily.  I have no idea who won in the end, and yet I knew this storyline well, rife with its second chances and obstacles overcome.

Yesterday, I was caught off guard when Allison asked if there'd be an egg hunt on Easter.  Their drivers' licenses alone were proof enough that she and Eric no longer qualified for certain child-like activities.  They can, after all, vote and buy cigars and head to war, if they so choose.  Surely, then, I have been freed from the expectations of certain childhood rites. . . .

A few hours later, awash in a bittersweet mix of guilt, nostalgia and my own love of a good treasure hunt, I stood in the candy aisle at Walgreens, elbowing my way past other delinquent parents to the mostly-empty boxes of Russell Stover marshmallow eggs, hoping for yet another second chance with obstacles successfully overcome.

Yes, there will be an egg hunt this morning at the Holt house.  And, like all good Raglins, I have made sure that the chocolate is real chocolate, not some waxy substitute that displeases the well-developed tongue of a genetically-predisposed candy lover.

It is not yet 7 a.m. and, already, I am content with this day, despite the absence of our Sunday paper.  Already, I have gathered up fond memories in my own brightly-colored Easter basket--the pleasure of standing in the pre-dawn dark with Mark, my bare feet relishing the coolness of our sidewalk;  the thrill of an owl's fierceness brushing my hair; the quiet joy of hiding foil-covered candies in the basement; the relief that comes with second chances and obstacles overcome.