Hatertot's Easter Post

4/17 - As the jade is unable to post today please continue to enjoy Hatertot's Easter post. Tell us about your Easter weekend thoughts and don't forget to tell us, of course, WFL? - Josephus


"We hear of the Easter Bunny who comes each Easter Day before sunrise to bring eggs for boys and girls, so we think there is only one. But this is not so. There are really five Easter Bunnies, and they must be the five kindest, and swiftest, and wisest bunnies in the whole wide world, because between sunset on Easter Eve and dawn on Easter Morning they do more work than most rabbits do in whole year."

Happy Easter, WFLers!

Easter is my favorite holiday (after My Birthday and the Fourth of July – but it’s my favorite of the Big Three – not hard since I hate the other two, but I legitimately love me some Easter) – it’s got the best weather, the prettiest colors, the cutest mascots, and the best Jesus story. It’s also got Lent, and Mardi Gras preceding it, which I also love because there isn’t anything I like more than some good old-fashioned self-deprivation.

“When one of the Easter Bunnies grows old and can no longer run fast, the old, wise, and kind Grandfather Bunny who lives at the Palace of Easter Eggs calls the bunnies together from the whole world to select the very best one to take the place.”

Growing up in the HaterTot household, Easter also had the best food of all the holidays. At least to my not-all-that-fond-of-turkey mind. We were not a ham family – as I like ham even less than I like turkey, and luckily MomsHaterTot was equally as anti-PigAss. So, it came to pass that we were a lamb family. Taught by my CrazyAunt, my mom prepared a fresh leg of lamb (chosen from my dad’s friend’s farm, while it was still attached to a wee little lamb-lette, running and playing, all the while not knowing its delicious fate – I couldn’t participate in this part of the holiday, as it would have made me very sad, and knowing my family, we’d have had a pet lamb, to go along with the duck, rabbits and dog) Anyhoo, once the leg was in our possession, it was marinated for days and rubbed with delicious fresh herbs, scored and inserted with whole garlic cloves and left to soak up all the flavor. Now, while this was happening, my Dad’s job was to dig the pit. Dad went out back and dug a hole in the yard, where the fire would be built and the lamb put on the spit over top.

“One day a little country girl bunny with a brown skin and a little cotton-ball tail said, ‘Some day I shall grow up to be an Easter Bunny: -- you wait and see!’ Then all of the big white bunnies who lived in fine houses, and the jack Rabbits with long legs who can run so fast, laughed at the little Cottontail and told her to go back to the country and eat a carrot. But she said, ‘Wait and see!’”

In the days and weeks leading up to Easter, MammaHT and I would always shop for Easter outfits. This never really got old, as shopping for outfits is always fun – though, by high school, I was a bitch and didn’t like it as much, as it meant spending time with the fam, which was soooo… not on my Too Cool For School agenda. But it was the best time of the year when I was a little girl, because it was the only time that my mom would allow me to get “frou frou” things in purple and pink – which were strictly verboten the rest of the year. (my mom hated girly shit and did her best to beat my tendencies to gravitate toward things that were pink and purple and sparkly out of me) For Easter though, she indulged me (though desperately tried to steer me toward yellows and greens and blues – sometimes she was successful). One year in particular, I think I was probably three, the Easter spirit even netted me the Best Bikini Ever, where the whole top half was a duckie. Yes kids, there was a time when just one duckie shaped piece of cloth covered the entirety of my boobage. Anyway, I digress…

“The little girl Cottontail grew up to be a young lady Cottontail. And by and by she had a husband and then one day, much to her surprise there were twenty-one Cottontail babies to take care of. “

We also decorated the house for Easter (as my mom did for the other, inferior holidays, though I tried to only participate in Easter decorating) – we even had an Easter Tree, decorated with Easter ornaments, under which we put Easter gifts. MomsHT would make Easter cookies and Easter candy, and the fun would culminate on Good Friday, when, after spending the day in church saying the Stations of the Cross and confession (the Priest used to tell me that I had to be sure not to sin on Saturday, otherwise I couldn’t have Communion at church Easter morning), we’d come home (after going to at least one other church to pick up pierogies, and the fire hall, to pick up fish) and dye eggs. My mom always bought whatever newfangled crazy egg dying/decorating kits were available that year, in addition to the regular old Paas kit. We would then dye every egg in the house – hardboiled or not (which used to piss my dad off, when one of the raw ones would slip into his lunch bag, because he thought it to be hard boiled, and then he’d crack open a raw egg at the station, and make a mess. Secretly though, that always made me laugh, even though I never got to witness it in person).

“Then one day when the little rabbits were half grown up, she heard a great talk among the woods rabbits, and when she asked what it was about, they said, ‘Haven’t you heard? One of the five Easter Bunnies has grown too slow, and we are all going to the Palace of Easter Eggs to see Old Grandfather pick out a new one to take his place.’”

In addition to the lamb, we had a small ham for my dad and grandmother, though Dad really only wanted it to have ham sandwiches, ham and scalloped potatoes, ham and cabbage and other ham-based meals for the rest of the week. I ignored the ham, but rather focused on the side dishes. There was sour-cream and swiss cheese potato cake, roasted asparagus, sweet potatoes, Peeps salad, some kind of weird white jell-o salad, always a relish tray (Easter’s focused on olives and cheeses, chosen to compliment the lamb). For dessert, in addition to the Easter cookies and candies, there was a Fruit Ribbon cake, which was a four-layer white cake, with “ribbons” of fruit filling in between each (I got to pick which fruits I wanted – I usually chose lemon curd, strawberries and left the third to my dad, who would always pick raspberry, except for the one year he fucked up and chose orange marmalade – that was horrible). MomsHT, crafty bitch that she was, would go out to the yard/garden and select violets, or other edible flowers, which she would candy to decorate the cake, which was iced in whipped cream frosting. (I have the recipe for this cake, but don’t look for it at HH@BB anytime soon – that shit is a pain in the ass)

“Then [Grandfather’s] kind old eyes looked everywhere and at last they rested on Little Cottontail Mother where she stood with her children around her. And he called her to come right up to the Palace steps. So she took her twenty-one children and went up and stood before him.”

When I was very little, I left the Easter Bunny a plate of carrots and milk and a hard boiled egg, that I’d made specially for him, with his name on it. We’d wake up early, and I’d eat candy and search for the eggs that we’d dyed and that the Bunny had so craftily hidden in the night. Then my mom and I would put on our Easter dresses and go to church, which was always really weird, because my church would do things like install a fountain or reenact the scene where the women open the tomb to find it empty. Hopped up on all the candy as I was, I found it very difficult to sit still, and it was on one Easter, that I moved around so much, I fell off the end of the pew and into the aisle, which got me a spanking in the car out in the parking lot.

“Then the old, kind, wise Grandfather said, ‘You have proved yourself to be not only wise, and kind, and swift, but also very clever. Come to the Palace tomorrow afternoon, for that is Easter Eve, and you shall be my fifth Easter Bunny.”’

After we got home from church, we’d eat Easter bread and more candy, and if it wasn’t too cold (this was after all Pittsburgh, where more than once, I had to wear snow boots with my pretty new Easter dress) we’d go outside and watch the lamb on the spit over the fire pit. It was during this time that I got to open my Easter presents, which ranged from my duck Quacker one year, to Libby the lop-eared show bunny another, to jewelry and trinkets and stuffed animals and toys.

“When she went close, she saw that he was holding in his hand the loveliest egg she had ever seen. It glittered like a diamond. ‘Peek through and see what you shall see,’ he said; so she peeked through the little hole in one end and she saw a beautiful scene with a sleigh, and a lake with people skating on the ice. And he said, ‘Because you have such a loving heart for children, I am going to give you the best but the hardest trip of all. Far off over two rivers and three mountains there is a great mountain peak. And in a little cottage on that peak is a little boy who has been ill for a while year, and who has been so brave that never once has he cried or complained. The mountain is so high that there is ice on the top, and it will be hard to climb, but if you get there you will give more happiness than any other Easter Bunny.”

My Grandparents would come over at some point in the day, Grandma always bringing delicious pickled eggs (pickled in beet brine, so that they were pink!) and I ran around cracking open all the hard boiled eggs for everyone, because I liked the idea of cracking eggs on peoples’ heads and having it not be messy. My Grandmother would always tell my mother, indignantly that in HER house growing up, they never ate lamb, and that she wouldn’t have any of it. She never tried it and never would, and was just sure it was terrible. My mother would, depending on her mood, ignore or, her tell her to fuck off. In later years, I stepped into the role of defending my mom against her unnecessary bitchiness and ignorance, which one year resulted in my grandmother literally flinging herself to the ground and rolling around and crying. That was an odd year.

“Down, down she went, and she crashed through a thicket of budding laurel, rolled across a pasture, and finally struck against the trunk of a great apple tree that was just getting ready to bloom for Easter. And there she lay, with the egg still safely clutched in her paw, but with a great pain in her leg.”

I always went home for Easter after I moved out. Except for the European Vacation years, where Easter was totally crazy. It was always a pain in the ass, because I’d inevitably need to be back at work or school on Monday, so after eating, I’d have to sit my now-surely-larger ass in the car for 4 hours, but I did so in a car filled with scrumptious Easter leftovers.

“And he smiled at her and he said, ‘You are not only wise, and kind, and swift, but you are also the bravest of all the bunnies. And I shall make you my very own Gold Shoe Easter Bunny.’ And he reached over and she saw for the first time that he was holding a tiny pair of gold shoes in his hand. And he bent down and put them on her feet. Suddenly all the pain left her leg, and she stood up and picked up the precious egg. Then, before she knew what was happening, she felt a sudden motion, and she found herself flying high in the air: over the pasture she flew, over the laurel, over the stones, until at last, when she landed, she looked back and she saw that one single jump had carried her halfway up the mountain. Then she jumped once again and there she was at the cottage door. Quickly she squeezed through the tiny crack that had been left open just in case the bunny did come all that way, and in the hand of the beautiful sleeping boy, she placed the egg.”

As most of you know, my Dad and I don’t really “do” holidays since my mom died, and I don’t go home except for Christmas. In past years, I’ve had wonderful Easters with my surrogate family here, including last year’s brunch organized by Mr. and Mrs. Jo, when the OWFL was but a twinkle in the Czar’s eye. This year though, it felt right to spend the day alone and doing nothing. While I felt a strong urge to hop in the car and join many of the other WFLers on their outdoor adventures this weekend, instead I was drawn to stay home and cook for myself and reminisce about Easters past.

“And the little house of Mother Cottontail can always be told now from the homes of all other bunnies. Because in a special place on the wall, on a very special hook, hangs a pair of very tiny little gold shoes.”

Today when I woke up at the luxurious time of 12:30pm (I was up rather late last night, though not out, just enjoying some quasi-alone time) I hopped to my fridge and pulled out one of the Diet Cokes I bought myself in anticipation of the end of my Lenten sacrifice. Then I called my dad to wish him a Happy Easter and set to cooking myself an omelet filled with gorgonzola cheese, vodka tomatoes, sun dried tomatoes, bacon and asparagus with a dollop of Daisy on the side, and reading The Country Bunny and the Little Gold Shoes, by Du Bose Heyward, as I do every Easter. Now, I think I’m going to go to the gym, after writing what I just ate.

So, what about all of you? How have you spent this Easter? Gorging on candy? Camping? Trips to Grandma’s? Feel free to share your Easter stories, past or present.

Happy Easter OWFL!