One Early Easter Morning

We wouldn't let them change out of church clothes

until they posed for a picture

When I was maybe ten or twelve I was actively involved in an inner-city church on the south side of Chicago. Although I can’t carry a tune and never could, I sang in the choir. One Easter, we sang an anthem that began,

One early Easter morning/

I wakened with the birds/

And all around lay silence/

Too deep for earthly words

One of my best friends from those days has remained a constant in my life ever since, though we are separated by distance and have maybe seen each other ten times since we both left Chicago and New Mexico, where she moved and married, and I visited. But over the years we have agreed that on Easter morning, we awaken with that melody and those words on our brains.

This morning when I got up the first thing I did was to email Barbara and say I was thinking of her this early Easter morning with all its silence. Thought I was so smart, but when I read my email, she had already sent a similar message to me.

Among the many things I am thankful for this blessed day is a binding friendship that has celebrated many shared joys, including large families, and endured divorce and death. The tie that has bound us for nearly seventy years is strong—an unusual gift in this day and age.

We went to the nine o’clock service at Fort Worth’s University Christian Church. It was, as I expected, glorious and inspiring, with music that almost overwhelmed. This church has a tradition of following the Easter benediction with the Hallelujah Chorus, and it was as always spellbinding. Our church has gone through ministers at a fairly rapid rate in recent years, and now we have Dr Russ Peterman, who has been with us since December. He is a man of great enthusiasm and spirit, and when he says from the pulpit that he is so excited by the renewed energy he senses in the church, I want to stand up and shout, “It’s you! You brought your energy to us. You’ve recreated the church.” Someday I may get a chance to say it directly to him. Meantime, I’m silently grateful and filled with joy.

A brief lull and then we had brunch—twelve people, three of them pre-teens. Jordan needn’t have worried that we didn’t have enough food—a Spanish omelet (Christian made it but decided he just doesn’t like cooked spinach; the rest of us liked it a lot), my leek/ricotta/pesto pie (served cold though Christian tried hard to convince me to heat it), sausages, fruit, biscuits, and hot cross buns. The latter led to several renditions of the nursery rhyme which I remember vaguely but not well. Our company included three grandmothers (besides me—we were definitely in the preponderance), two middle-aged couples (shhh! They don’t recognize that term as applying to them), and one grandfather.

A lovely warm and wonderful day, though not so warm outside. The temperature has dropped slightly but steadily all day.

Easter has come, given us renewed hope, and now the long haul until summer. It’s too bad we live our lives in anticipation of the next “biggie.”

           

Football in summer temperatures

My two gorgeous TCU daughters

My family has gone a-footballing. The TCU/UT game started at 6:15, but they left the house about 2:00, intent on finding several different friends they wanted to tailgate with. As Megan said, “It’s going to be a long day.” But they love it.

My thermometer tells me the temperature outside is 80, hardly football weather. I remember when I first moved to Texas. The last college football games I had gone to were in Iowa, and we bundled up—it was cold. When we first arrived in Texas, my new husband was a surgical resident, and the staff physicians often took us to TCU football games. I bundled up, because that’s what I thought one did for football games. And I ended up being miserably hot. I ad a full-length red coat that I had to hold or carry the whole night. I also remember that back then folks dressed for the game—no torn jeans and T-shirts, thank you. The ladies wore suits and dresses, and the men wore suits. TCU never won a game in those days, back in the mid-sixties, so I wondered why we went—my blood was not then purple. Thank goodness, that’s different today and they are winning many more than they are losing.

And grandsons--the one on the left looking serious is a dedicated TCU fan,

the one on the right, grinning, doesn't much care,

and I don't know what was going on with Jacob in the middle

Note the orange sleeve to the right--it's my son-in-law

See above that my daughter wore lots of purple--a divided family

I’m not a football fan. As I’ve said, I can never figure out what’s happening on the field. I used to go for the camaraderie. Now, for lots of reasons, it’s beyond me, but out of loyalty I keep it on the TV, muted. But every time I look up, hoping to see a score, they screen flashes scores of other games. I think it’s near the end of the second quarter, and I have no idea who’s winning. Oh, well. I suppose they’ll all come home and tell me, probably in the morning because I’m sure I’ll be asleep by the time they make it home tonight. A friend emailed to say it’s an exciting game—thanks a lot. I’m missing all the excitement.

Nice day. Went to Ol’ South with Megan and family and then to TCU bookstore, where Ford chose as his birthday present a T-shirt, face stickers, a football, and a pop socket. Jacob got a basketball, for which he swears he’ll pay me. Difference in kids—Sawyer happily went with his dad to look at books. Jacob and Ford ran loose like wild Indians. We finally corralled everyone, dropped all those males at the house, and went to Central Market.

I planned a good meal for myself tonight, but like many, it wasn’t quite right. I did a chicken thigh with soy, salt, pepper, and garlic powder in the toaster oven—and all that crisp skin, the best part, stuck to the foil I’d used to line the pan. Next time, I’ll grease the foil. The zucchini just didn’t taste right, but the ear of corn was delicious and so was the chocolate for dessert. Win some, lose some. I’ll have to try that chicken technique again.

A generational difference? Or, how compulsive are you?

Sunday afternoon, and we’re expecting Jordan’s in-laws for dinner at 5:30. She and Christian have picked out a recipe for taco lasagna that they’ll cook. First she said she’d be here in the morning, then she said she didn’t know. Figuring it was her deal, I took my usual Sunday nap. Woke at four to find the house still needed “picking up,” the kitchen was a mess, and there was no sign of supper. Jordan was watching TV.

A couple of things you should know about this scenario: I am compulsive. If I’m entertaining for supper, the dish is mostly if not completely ready to cook, the house and kitchen straightened, and the table set by noon. The other thing is that Jordan is in many ways the child who is most like me—cautious, always busy, wants things done when she wants them, always efficient. I couldn’t believe this, so I tried to be as tactful as possible when I really wanted to ask, “Why on God’s green earth are you just sitting there?”

Her explanation: she took the dogs out, got overheated, and needed to sit. She’d do it in a bit, and it would all get done. It was her dinner, they were her guests, and I couldn’t, shouldn’t, wouldn’t scold. So I scooted around the house straightening what I could—remember I am confined to scooting on a walker. In the long run, I left some straightening for her that I couldn’t do but set the table, rinsed the corn (we roasted it in the husk in the oven), and cobbled together a fruit salad.

And she was right—by 5:30 it was all ready, corn and casserole in the oven. Christian had stayed at their house (it’s for rent) to show his folks how he had staged it (he did an amazing job—all I could say was it was too bad it didn’t look that way when they lived there).

Christian and the senior Burtons arrived about six, and we had dinner shortly after. The casserole looked and smelled wonderful—I didn’t eat it because of ongoing stomach issues but our guests raved about it and had extra helpings, with the result that only two of five ears of corn were eaten. Jordan made a cake for dessert, and we had a jolly evening.

I will give her this: it’s always eventually done on time. We just have different approaches, and if we’re to blend our households I’ll have to back off and not worry so much. In my own cottage, I can pre-prepare to my heart’s delight—and my nerves relief.

I still don’t know if it’s a generational difference or not. I can’t believe she’s calmer than I am, since she’s compulsive about many things.