Spring this….

So the first day of spring was the other day, right?

Can’t prove it by me.

We went for shopping this afternoon and as I was trying to pick out Easter flowers, there were snow flurries in the air.

SNOW FLURRIES.

It brought back memories of my Mom, who would tell me how, at my oldest brother’s First Holy Communion, in May, back in the early fifties, it snowed.They couldn’t take pictures of the kids at grotto areas for keepsakes due to snow.The thought brought a smile to my face, and drew me to a pot of three white hyacinths.Tradionally, my brother in the city with me would pick up a purple hyacinth for her, I would get her a white one, and my Dad would buy Mom a lily.The memory brought a smile to my face. Once the flowers fade away, I’ll have the bulbs to come up each spring to renew the memory.

Thank God for small favors.

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Another Easter Sunday

I remember that as I was getting older, I would be upset with my folks when they would say about certain occasions,” It’s just another day.”

Once again, Easter hits me hard in that my parents are not here with me. My nephew Greg bought me a white hyacinth-something I traditionally would have gotten my mother, and at least a little piece of my history is repeated. Of course, it would stand to follow that I am married to a man who is allergic to flowers every time someone give me some. Not a good call for a flower lover such as myself, but, ah, the price of love….

Kielbasa was a staple of my Easter, but I would be the only one who ate it. My husband would make a few stabs at it, but that is how it goes, If you haven’t been brought up with it, I guess, you have no ties to it.

So instead, I will hold a fire in my heart for Easters past. My heart aches for my parents, but hey,

“It’s just another day.”……

Right?

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Holy Saturday

My nephew Greg just left. He came to pick up ham I made for them. I remarked how old I am: sitting here alone with the fur girls, watching Pope Francis I have the Easter Vigil Mass at the Vatican.

Jim is out painting our front fence, as we get the house ready to sell. Melancholia is quite overwhelming. This house had me busy on this day for the first six years, as I would be preparing for Easter. Then Mom got sick.

It is good to have good memories; it doesn’t make them hurt any less, but they are good.

A blessed Easter to you and yours.

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