One Early Easter Morning

As I dressed in the dark this morning, I began to think that I had been so preoccupied with the logistics of the day--sunrise service, Easter egg hunt and breakfast for six adults and two kids, then a respite and then mid-day dinner for eight--that I hadn't stopped to meditate on the significance of the day, to let the wonder of God's love sink in. The service was lovely, and the minister--a young man I didn't know--said jut the right words, said that some rejoiced that Jesus was risen but others were fearful, even doubting, which he said is okay. I very much needed to hear that message. The service was highlighted for me by the offertory--"One Early Easter Morning," which I've blogged about before. I sang it in choir at the age of 10, 12, I don't know. But it has bounced around in my head ever since, and I was so grateful to our music director for scheduling it. A quartet, with one acting as soloist, sang it a capalla. We had all groaned about sunrise and early getting up (5:30) but we decided it was inspirational and we'll do it again next year. It's lovely to go to church, outdoors in a courtyard, in the dark and watch the sky turn pink and then blue. As though God were reaching down to say, "It is true. He is Risen." (As our breakfasts guests left, the dad said, "He Lives!" and Jacob asked, "Who lives?" Oh well, he'll learn!).
Ultimately the day was mostly about kids. Jacob began the day at 5 a.m., waking his parents because he had a bonus morning, both the Easter bunny and the tooth fairy visited during the night. That tooth has been hanging for weeks, but he wouldn't let anyone touch it. A stray elbow in a bouncy house at a birthday party yesterday did the trick.

Jacob and his friend/sister, Eva, had a great time hunting eggs, and then we all had sausages, eggs, fruit, and hot cross buns--which I love but nobody else seemed to much like. Nice gathering, good way to start the day. And easy kitchen clean-up. After they left, I got a short nap, and then it was time to get ready for 3:00 p.m. dinner.

Most of the dinner was ready--a sliced ham waiting to be put in the oven, potato salad, fruit salad with just a little more cutting needed, green beans snapped and ready to roast--but the deviled eggs were still empty half eggs, although the filling was made, I was dragging my heels, hoping Jordan would stuff them. Well, now I know the trick--my ten-year-old granddaughter is a pro. I always spoon the filling in, recognizing that it doesn't looks as good. Edie cut a corner in a baggie and piped it in with the precision that characterizes everything she does. They looked beautiful. We had as always a noisy happy hour and a joyous dinner.
What's my lesson from this Easter? Well, I always wait to be blown away by the certainty of my faith, but much as I believe, little doubts creep in, sort of "What ifs?" in the back of my mind. Today I learned that those little doubts are okay and that's it's also okay for me to focus on family, friends, and food even, and maybe especially, on high holy days. And now I wish I could sing with the quartet the last stanza of "One Early Easter Morning," particularly approriate for a sunrise service:

At last the dawn came streaming

Across the Eatern sky.

Thank God for Easter morning

When Christ the Lord rides by.

Banned books--and a bit of nostalgia

Although many have posted and written about this week being Banned Books Week, I feel I can't let it go by without mention. A fellow mystery writer posted today that she made it a practice to buy one book on the list each year and this year she bought The Hunger Games. My twelve-year-old granddaughter, a voracious reader, read that for goodness' sake. Shelf Awareness, the daily online column for booksellers that is a wonderful font of information, posted a list of the books most recently banned, with the comment that "You'd think it was a list of books for a reading group with interesting, eclectic taste." We all know Mark Twain's books have been banned many times, but here are the surprises to me: Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen, Anne Frank: The  Diary of a Young Girl, Snow Falling on Cedars by David Guterson (a book that enthralled me), Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson, Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison. Okay, maybe I'm not too surprised that Morrison is on the list, and not surprised at all that Brave New World  by Aldous Huxley and The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger are also on the list, though both are classics. I'd be proud if my granddaughter read these books and talked to me about them.
Another list I read had to do with banned books made into movies: American Psycho, Lolita, A Clockwork Orange, Lord of the Flies and The Handmaid's Tale.
I wish I understaood more about who has the authority to bann these books--and are they banned locally or nationwide. Surely no one can tell an entire nation not to read Mark Twain!
My own brushes with censorship have been mild. My first young-adult novel, After Pa Was Shot, published way back in 1978, is set in East Texas around the turn of the 19th-20th centuries and is narrated by a 14-year-old girl. At that time, not all Jewish immigrants from Europe landed at Ellis Island. A good number entered the United States at Galveston, and many, often itinerant salesman, drifted north through the small towns of East Texas. In the novel, my narrator, Ellsbeth, becomes friends with a young Jewish girl of just such family background. In talking about the town's prejudice against the family, I used the word "kike," certainly not one I would use myself today, but it passed what to me is the tried and true test: it was appropriate to time and place.
A schoolteacher friend of mine said if her superintendent read the book, it would be banned from their library because of the word "kike." I couldn't believe it. I guess, however, the superintendent never got around to reading it for as far as I know the book is still on school shelves.
In the '90s, I wrote a young-adult book about horse-racing, Callie Shaw, Stableboy. I wanted to call it The Devil Amongst Us, because Callie's aunt cautions her that if horse racing comes to North Texas, "the devil will be amongst us." The book is based on the Arlington Downs Race Track, a major attration in the 1930s in the Dallas/Fort Worth area. The publisher flatly refused to use the title, saying no school library would purchase it. Practicality won, and we went with the fairly ordinary title instead of the one I thought had some flair. Censorship can get down to the nitty-picky.
My bit of nostalgia: my dad used to play the piano in the evenings. Neither he nor I could carry a tune in the proverbial bucket, but we had a wonderful time singing to his playing. His signature piece was "Red Wing," and I can still hear him singing, "Oh, the moon shines tonight on pretty Red Wing." I got to thinking today about other songs, and two popped up from long buried memory, "I dream of Jeannie with the long brown hair," and "Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me." Anyone remember those? Then I thought of "On the Banks of Bonnie Loch Lomond," and its line of "Oh, ye take the high road, and I'll take the low road/And I'll be in Scotland afore ye." A flood of wonderful memories.

Red Wing

A friend, Bob Reed, sent me his as-yet unpublished novel yesterday, hoping I'll blurb it--which I will after I've read it. But the title, "The Red-Winged Blackbird" sent my thoughts tumbling back to my dad.
 He was Canadian and had a bit of that British reserve about him--as well as what I considered a kind of droll accent when I got older. He was an osteopathic physician, president of an osteopathic college, and a hosital administrator, a man totally wrapped up in his work. His avocation was gardening, and we had the best backyard--and sideyard--for blocks. That's where Dad spent his weekends, looking like a homeless bum in dirty clothes. But he always dressed for dinner in a fresh white shirt--poor Mom. He was not one of those fathers who aimed to be my best buddy. He hugged and kissed, of course, and bragged about me to others. I have heard stories, even from him, about him taking me sledding when I was little--we lived on a park with a small hill, just right for toddler sledding. But I can't remember that he ever played with me. He was concerned about table manners and behavior and all those things. I know he loved me a lot and was proud of me, especially as I grew older, but he wasn't a pal as my boys are to their children. I should add that I went to work in his office when I was fourteen, and if I've had success as a press director, its because of the organizatonal habits he taught me then. I was given no leeway because I was the boss' daughter--I had to be better than everyone else, work harder, but I loved it.
The thing Dad and I did together was sing at the piano--never mind that neither of us could carry a tune. We were enthusiastic and hearty. Dad played out of several books--the Methodist hymnal, the American Heritage book of Favorite Songs, and a book that had everything from "Carry me back to my old Kentucky Home" to "Scotland's Burning, Scotland's Burning." We sang "Nearer my God to thee" and "Clementine" and--I particularly remember this, "Loch Lomond": Oh, ye take the high road, and I'll take the low,/ and I'll be in Scotland afore ye/But me and my true love/will never ever meet again/ on the bonny banks of Loch Lomond." My love of all things Scottish, of course, comes from my dad, who was fiercely proud of his MacBain Scottish heritage all his life.
Dad didn't play by ear, but there was one song he played from memory, "Red Wing." I never saw music or words for it. But Bob's title made me think of that song, so I looked it up on the Web today: it was copyrighted in 1907, is about Red Wing's love for Hiawatha, and has been sung by a variety of performers. The lyrics I remember are

Oh, the moon shines tonight on pretty Red Wing
the breeze is sighing,
the night bird's crying.
For afar 'neath his star
Her brave is sleeping
While Red Wing's weeping her heart away.

I'm not sure where a Canuck learned that song about American Indian lore, but he played it with gusto. Every once in a while, it comes to my mind and then the tune is stuck in my head for a while. But I like that. It brings back one of the best memories of Dad, who has been gone since 1979.
Bob Reed's title comes from a totally different song, "The Red-Winged Blackbird," written by Billy Edd Wheeler and sung by Joan Collins in the '60s. I'm a big Joan Collins' fan so I'm sure I'd like it. I looked it up on the web too and found lots of offers to make it the ring-tone on your cell phone. What is the world coming to?
Personally I'd like to have the Red Wing melody on my cell phone--it would be a nice reminder of good times.