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2001-04-16 || 11:17 a.m. || un-easter || holidays feel so funny when you are removed from the traditions that make the days capitalized and circled in red ink on your calendar. that make you wake up early all excited and new feeling, lying in bed for a minute to smell cooking smells from the kitchen, hear your mom and dad clanking pots together and yelling out additions to the grocery list. i woke up at 10:47 on easter sunday. i fell back asleep and woke up again at 11:30 with a boy arm thrown across my belly. we woke up and fell asleep, woke up and wrestled around and played gin rummy in our underwear, while in another universe, my mother was urging kelly and i to go to church with her. she was yelling at kelly to change her shoes. we were at church, my mother crossing herself at the appropriate times, kneeling at the appropriate times, noticing that her daughters beside her were silent while she recited the apostle's creed (i think we are in bed. or in the car. he asks what easter is all about. parts of the apostle's creed come back to me. words drop out of my mouth. we believe in one god. he suffered, died, and was buried. on the third day he rose again in fulfillment of the scriptures.) i'm not sure what it means. i don't know what happened on easter. something about a cave and a boulder and mary magdalene and mary. how did they move that big heavy boulder? at three o' clock i had bedhead and was wearing clothes from the night before. i was visiting my cat in the empty house on mcgee street. i was lying on the couch, smoking a cigarette, watching marlo thomas in an awful sunday movie, talking to my cat. worrying about her poor cat lungs and the second hand smoke. i checked my messages. my dad sounded sad wishing me a happy easter. he hoped i was out having fun. i think he misses the easter eggs like i do. i think he sits at the kitchen table on easter mornings, pretending to read the paper, trying to reconstruct the morning sounds and smells when all of his girls are in the house, rushing down the stairs in their pajamas ready to find eggs and treasures. fluorescent colored plastic haunts him from the potted plants, beneath the couch, outside under the lemon tree. from the corner of his eye, he thinks he sees the flashes of color in his favorite hiding spots, just like when he sits still for a second, holds his breath for just long enough, he thinks he can hear us upstairs about to come down. guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |