The Easter bunny stopped by the house this morning; wouldn’t you know, he didn’t leave one Spring Sphere.  Just your basic colorful plastic eggs, loaded with Hershey’s kisses, mini bags of M&M’s, the occasional dollar bill and in some even more rare instances, Old Mother Hubbard’s natural peanut butter dog biscuits.  Yup, in our house, Peter Cottontail is quite inclusive regardless of your race, religion or species.

Trust me, these are not harmful....

Makes one wonder where this type of foolishness comes from.  Just what the heck is a spring sphere anyway?  Why would Easter be such a threat to the fabric of society that we now have to attack it the way we attack Christmas every year?

We held our annual Easter egg hunt in town yesterday. No one got hurt, no one got converted and no one jumped off the bridge because they were being oppressed.  No one got excluded either.  No one was checking ID’s at the gate to make sure non-denominational children were sent away.  And even though this has been going on for the twelve years I’ve lived here, the town has never adopted a charter exclaiming to formally recognize one religion.

My neighbor walked by this morning and wished me a happy Easter.  I took the greeting with the same cheer that it was offered, just as when I had wished he and his family a wonderful Passover.  I am no more offended or afraid of his religion than he is of mine.  When he extends wishes of one of his family holidays, he wishes me the cheer, hope and good faith that his religion brings him.  I do the same.  Regardless of what our progressive friends in Seattle think, the Easter bunny is the least of our problems.

No, no rant tonight.  It was too wonderful an Easter.  Fate put a segment of our family under one roof for lunch on Saturday and I couldn’t have been happier.  That’s what Easter is all about anyway.  Embracing our elders, some in their mid 80’s, while renewing lost relationships with cousins we hadn’t seen for years, or meeting others for the first time.  Grandchildren, suffering the boredom of the family gathering, patiently answer the same questions over and over again from this aunt, that great-uncle, that second cousin.  I find myself unable to keep planted in my chair, wandering around to each of the 23 seats at the long table.  This is family for me.  This was Easter. This is what holidays are for.

Maybe next year, we'll get more of the family.

So while someone on the west coast was busy protecting the world from the scourge of Easter eggs, we had a mixed denominational, mostly French-Canadian gathering of family, from the teens to the mid 80s, together for Easter lunch in an Italian restaurant in central Maine.  Go figure.

I may insult some by wishing you a Happy Easter.  So be it.  Their issue, not mine.  No apologies.

For everyone one else, Happy Easter.  Let’s do it all again next year.