This morning Sophie got me up early (like 5:30) with one of her snophalophagus attacks. I got up to give her a Benadryl, went to the bathroom, and saw an email from my high school BFF—she quoted these lines to me:
One
early Easter morning,
I
wakened with the birds,
And
all around me lay silence,
Too
deep for earthly words.
She
didn’t have to say any more. I knew it meant she was thinking of me, and that in
our faith, He is Risen, indeed! Long ago—really long ago—she and I were in a
youth choir that sang that music on Easter morning, and it has stayed with both
of us. So today, I went through the day with that melody playing in my head.
One year, for a sunrise service, my church included it in the program—at my
request. I was thrilled.
Good
intentions gone awry—we were going to attend virtual nine o’clock church this
morning but instead had Easter breakfast/brunch about 10:30 and then were ready
for the eleven o’clock service (I think it was the same service, played over
again). Brunch was a tater tot casserole that Jordan and Christian fiddled with—who
really needs six cups of grated cheese? They cut it in half, substituted
sausage for bacon, added eggs—and the result was so good.
Tater Tot casserole
Our church,
Fort Worth’s University Christian, has really learned some innovative things
about presenting virtual services, and this morning was a triumph. Easter
services usually conclude with Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus—this morning various members
of the congregation popped up from unlikely spots spelling out the lyrics to
accompany the music. It was good-hearted, good fun, and wonderful. The sermon
struck a chord with me too because I hear on Facebook from acquaintances who
sing of doom because Biden is president—I can’t believe I am patient with them,
but I am for various reasons. The gist of what I took away this morning is to
never believe that the moment of gloom is the last word. God always gets the
last word, and it is “Life,” though I might suggest that it is “Love.”
The
Burtons went off to Denton to celebrate with Christian’s family, and I, after a
nap, welcomed Subie and Phil. We had gravlax that I had cured—absolutely delicious,
with a perfect sauce of yogurt, mayo, balsamic vinegar, lemon, and dill. I will
definitely do that again. Russian salad, also new to me, was great—sort of a
version of potato salad, but you dice everything fine, aiming for the size of
green peas because it has peas, along with potatoes, carrots, cornichons, ham.
Dressing is simply mayo mixed with cornichon brine. I think I was a bit timid
about the brine, but I will use it with a freer hand next time. Subie brought
egg butter, which she had learned to make in Finland—like deviled eggs but without
the devil. The perfect accompaniment for gravlax. And dessert? In the interests
of being ecumenical, it was matzoh crack.
Matzoh crack
So rich, so good
I have
to say, for all I worried about the gravlax, the matzoh crack was the thing I
struggled with the most—trying to avoid burning myself with the hot sugar
mixture, juggling pans, quick spreading first toffee and then chocolate before
it hardened past the point of spreading. Plus I had to do it in my small toaster
oven, instead of a traditional one where I could have done more pieces of
matzoh at one time. I made two batches—and I have a whole lot of matzoh left
over, so I’ve been singing to Christian about the virtues of matzoh brie—just like
the migas he loves. Funny how so many cultures have the same dish by different
names.
All in
all, it was not the traditional Easter I always long for—I still wish I’d been
in church and then had a leg of lamb—but it was a great, non-traditional
alternative, and I am counting my blessings tonight.
Two
days ago, I looked at a tree that is always so slow to leaf out that each
spring I am convinced it is dead—and I thought that after our terrible
snowmageddon. But tonight I just happened to look—and it has leafed out in two
days.
He is
Risen, Indeed!
