Easter Grass

Last night as I was piddling around here late after everyone was asleep, as I tend to do on nights before the big holidays *ahem*, I looked at shredded colored paper and thought how lovely it was to be able to color coordinate the paper with the baskets.  (This was thanks to a find at the GW Boutique.  This is not how I normally roll.)  I remembered the green plastic grass from my years growing up.  After we fished out all of our jellybeans and Robin’s eggs (aka “lipstick eggs”) and bubble gum eggs and so on, we took all of the “grass” from our basket and placed it back in the Sunbeam bread bag that it had been stored in since the previous Easter.  I can remember the colors fading and wearing off the bag over the years, we used that same one for so long.  I am sure we got our money’s worth out of that single bag of Easter grass.

As I did what I do last night, a story my Daddy told me came back to me and I had to sit down on his brown couch that is in my home next to Mama’s end table and lamp and smile and remember.

When they moved to the house on the farm, Daddy was around Cooter’s age–maybe 7?  He remembered their Easters.  Daddy said he and his older brother would go out in the yard the day before and dig a small hole, about the size of a bowl.  When they finished they would pick grass and line the “basket” with real grass.  Their eggs would be left there to be found on Easter morning.

Isn’t that the sweetest picture?  I can see my Daddy as a little fella, digging in the ground, crouched over his hole, working intently, occasionally pushing his hair out of his eyes, and focusing on getting it just so.  Then running all over, picking and pulling up grass, the very grass that was cool under his bare feet in the heat of the day.

What a precious story.

And one that makes so much more sense and feels so much more authentic than our plastic or shredded paper “grass.”  And what a relief it must be for that poor little Bunny that he doesn’t have to find his way inside.  I love that tradition and that story so much.

Sometimes the simple ways are best.  I wonder what my crew would do if I have them dig their own baskets next year?  Worth a shot?  Just imagine the memories–good? bad?–that could come from that.

Love and merry memory-making to all.

Why I Love My Kindle But Not an E-Book

I love my Kindle.  I do.

I appreciate that I was given this really generous gift by my family.  I love having the fun and educational “apps” that my children enjoy when we have long waiting times.  (Like today at the Pediatrician’s…..and then again at the Pharmacy.  Long waits.) One of my favorite features, that I was not aware of initially, is that I can email files and e-books downloaded on my computer to my Kindle and read them there.  Excellent.  I have purchased educational workbooks from websites and sent them to my Kindle, which is so much easier to use with my children than reading them on the computer.  I have even sent my own word documents to it for later use.

A luxury.  That’s for sure.

For a while after I first got the Kindle, I checked a website or two for the free book downloads of the day.  Mama and I enjoyed comparing notes and talking about our “finds.”  Then I realized I was cluttering my Kindle up with books that I might or might not read.  So I stopped.

But one thing I do love is being able to download the first chapter of a book free as a sample–to take the book out for a spin so to speak.  Download, check it out, then delete if I don’t care for it.  If I do, I usually put it on my wishlist.  But things were different when I downloaded the sample chapter of this one:

pic of kindle book

And I loved it.

It was the first book I could really get into since Mama died in February.  If you don’t love books, “get into” probably sounds a little odd, but if you do, you know what I mean.  I was turning e-page after e-page and it was really, really good.  Then I came to that dreaded message that told me I was at the end of my free sample, but I could purchase it for immediate download by clicking {here}.  After a brief pause and comparing prices (it was cheaper as a Kindle download), I clicked that magic box: “Buy It Now.”

It was not without guilt.  I felt guilty getting the book, and I sure felt guilty over that instant gratification that I was giving in to.  Getting something on a whim like that?  I wasn’t raised that way.  We were taught to think through things and sleep on it before we did just about anything.  So yeah, this was a little out of my comfort zone.  By the time I continued into the next chapter two minutes later, I had pretty much chastised myself sufficiently.  And moved on.  Ahem.

It was a brilliant read.  I loved it.  It was like old times, flying through the pages, trying to sneak time to read–if only for a few minutes, even reading under the covers after lights were out.  I loved this book.

Uh oh.

That’s when I realized what I’d done.

I bought a book.  On the Kindle.

That I couldn’t share.

I hate it when that happens.

One of my great joys in life is sharing a book with friends and family.  I love thinking of just who would love the book, and I offer it with the caveat that it is okay if they don’t like it.  I learned that a long time ago from one of my aunts.  She and her very young grandson were talking about a movie that he loved.  She said she really didn’t care for it, and he was shocked and confused.  She told him that it was okay for folks who loved each other to like different things.  I like that, and it’s true.  So I pass along books I love, but it’s okay if my friends and family don’t love it too.

But this one?  I knew of at least four family members who would LOVE it.  And a couple of friends.  But there it sits, locked up tight inside this electronic rectangle, never to be shared or sit on my shelf reminding me of the great story inside. Very, very sad.  How’s that instant gratification feelin’ now? *sigh*

pic of book

Today my Aunt returned this book, “Ghost on Black Mountain,” that I’d shared with her a very short time ago.  (She’s a quick reader, that one!) I was overjoyed to hear that she had loved it as much as I had.  It’s a haunting tale, no pun intended, and now I get to share with her my excitement over the author’s next book coming out in September. Shared joys are the absolute best.  I can’t wait, and we can share that book too.  (And I’ve already put this one in a pile to take to MessCat’s house tomorrow.  I think she will also love it.)

Maybe I’m just too old-fashioned for all of this.  I think I’ll go back to my old ways.  Download sample, read it, and if it’s good, check with our locally-owned bookstore and then on-line.  And wait.  There’s something to be said about the good in things you have to wait for.  As the old song goes, “Anticipation…..”