To each his own Easter

Yesterday was Easter. That means different things to different people. For me, it meant the conclusion of Lent and five days in a row at church, singing with the choir, praying, meditating and experiencing the whole story of Jesus’s death and resurrection. Finally we can say “Alleluia” again. Jesus died and rose from the dead. What we believe about that is up to each of us.

For Christians, the resurrection is the point of Easter, but most of our society seems to be more focused on parties, candy, colored eggs, and Easter bunnies. Even without the church part of it, Easter is a grand celebration of spring, where the world, like Jesus, comes to life after a long winter.

Some people just ignore the day, going about their usual activities. The streets of Newport were clogged with tourists and locals visiting the beach, the bayfront, the aquarium, the local shops and restaurants on a day that wasn’t sunny, but at least it wasn’t raining or windy. In fact, it was almost warm.

In my neighborhood, it was a day for outside chores. My neighbor’s tree-trimming chainsaw harmonized with lawnmowers, boat motors, children and dogs playing, and the hum of my washer and dryer. As the clothes washed, I tackled the spa. Uncovered for nearly a month until I could get help putting the cover torn off by wind back on, the water was full of dirt and pine needles. The filters were clogged. After several false starts,  I got the submersible pump working and pumped the water out of the tub. Then I climbed in and started scrubbing. Soon my clothes were soaked as I lay in the puddles at the bottom, mopping with a big yellow sponge. The plastic surface is hard and slippery, but I managed to get it clean without  hurting myself. It took over an hour to refill the spa with clean water from the garden hose and replenish the bromine and other chemicals. Then, triumphant, I turned the tub back on and the heater roared to life. This morning, the water is 100 degrees, just right.

I had invitations to Easter celebrations, but I chose to spend the afternoon on my own, doing whatever I wanted. My husband Fred died on Easter weekend last year, but that wasn’t the reason. I just wanted to do it my way. So I cleaned the hot tub, washed my clothes, walked the dog, wrote a silly poem, ate spaghetti and meatballs for dinner and watched TV until I fell asleep on the couch, comfortable in the knowledge that God is alive and my spa is clean.

I hope your Easter was as good as mine.

Author: Sue Fagalde Lick

writer/musician California native, Oregon resident Author of Freelancing for Newspapers, Shoes Full of Sand, Azorean Dreams, Stories Grandma Never Told, Childless by Marriage, and Up Beaver Creek. Most recently, I have published two poetry chapbooks, Gravel Road Ahead and The Widow at the Piano: Confessions of a Distracted Catholic. I have published hundreds of articles, plus essays, fiction and poetry. I'm also pretty good at singing and playing guitar and piano.

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