Easter Bunny!?
Quote of the week: "I refused to taste it on the grounds that it just wasn't nice" ~ My mom
Doubtless one or two of you are thinking, hmmm... this sounds very familiar. I had been cooking up a little entry about lamb given the springy Eastery season, but alas I haven't done enough homework or enough eating to write about it yet.
And the warm sunshine falling on my keyboard is making me sleepy. So, although some (like LB) would say this is cheating, others (well okay... Mrs. O) would say you could read the following story every Easter.
So, here it is, readers, the tale of the Easter Bunny:
Imagine, readers, a small girl of five, golden brown hair tied back with a big pink ribbon, small feet in shiny patent Mary-Janes swinging to and fro as she sits in a dining room chair too tall for her little legs. She clutches a new stuffed bunny with floppy ears to the front of her lacy white and yellow dress with short poofy sleaves.
She is happy to no longer be wearing the crazy frilly hat which tied around her chin. And, after a morning of hunting for brightly colored Easter eggs, she is hungry. Probably, her blood sugar is crashing because she ate too many jelly beans and one cute yellow peep, the only one, in fact, which will be eaten. The rest of the peeps are doomed to go untouched, becoming hard and inedible in their cellophane and cardboard tomb.
Laid out before the little girl is a feast of ham, potato salad, canned black olives, some kind of vegetable she has no interest in, jello salad with marshmallows, rolls and butter, and some kind of mystery meat her mother won't let her touch. Her aunt is sitting at the end of the table chuckling about something. The little girl has no idea what's funny, but she likes to see her aunt laugh so she giggles in childish camaraderie.
In the kitchen, hidden from the innocent eyes of that little girl clutching her stuffed bunny and giggling, lurks the source of her aunt's amusement. Lying in a roast pan, with a kitchen towl like the shroud of turin over top, is the cooked carcass of none-other-than the Easter Bunny himself. And, while one mother and three children abstained from partaking in the mystery meat on the table, several of the other adults in the room said, "Hmmm... tastes interesting..."
Yep. You guessed it readers. That little girl was me about 30 years ago. And, it was my aunt that thought it would be amusing to serve rabbit on Easter.
I worshipped the Easter Bunny, reveling in the miracles of hidden eggs, chocolate bunnies in his image, jelly beans, colorful Easter grass and peeps. Oh, I was very devout when it came to the bringer of Easter goodness. Just the week prior I had made a picture for the Easter Bunny in our backyard using rocks and sidewalk chalk, before which I prayed that he wouldn't forget to put robin's eggs in my basket. I would have been mortified if I had known that my aunt cooked him for our Easter feast.
Perhaps on some level I knew. Really, was it any different than receiving holy communion in church. My small mind may have been able to imagine that the Easter Bunny would be resurrected in time to hide eggs and leave Easter baskets the following year. My mother was not about to take this chance.
Well, anyway, I don't really celebrate Easter anymore, though I do so still love the eggs, the bunnies, the colorful grass, the baskets, the cocktails...
Oh wait a minute. We never had Easter cocktails growing up. Well, my Aunt probably did. (You know I get it from somewhere right?)
Stay tuned!
Quote of the week: "I refused to taste it on the grounds that it just wasn't nice" ~ My mom
Doubtless one or two of you are thinking, hmmm... this sounds very familiar. I had been cooking up a little entry about lamb given the springy Eastery season, but alas I haven't done enough homework or enough eating to write about it yet.
And the warm sunshine falling on my keyboard is making me sleepy. So, although some (like LB) would say this is cheating, others (well okay... Mrs. O) would say you could read the following story every Easter.
So, here it is, readers, the tale of the Easter Bunny:
Imagine, readers, a small girl of five, golden brown hair tied back with a big pink ribbon, small feet in shiny patent Mary-Janes swinging to and fro as she sits in a dining room chair too tall for her little legs. She clutches a new stuffed bunny with floppy ears to the front of her lacy white and yellow dress with short poofy sleaves.
She is happy to no longer be wearing the crazy frilly hat which tied around her chin. And, after a morning of hunting for brightly colored Easter eggs, she is hungry. Probably, her blood sugar is crashing because she ate too many jelly beans and one cute yellow peep, the only one, in fact, which will be eaten. The rest of the peeps are doomed to go untouched, becoming hard and inedible in their cellophane and cardboard tomb.
Laid out before the little girl is a feast of ham, potato salad, canned black olives, some kind of vegetable she has no interest in, jello salad with marshmallows, rolls and butter, and some kind of mystery meat her mother won't let her touch. Her aunt is sitting at the end of the table chuckling about something. The little girl has no idea what's funny, but she likes to see her aunt laugh so she giggles in childish camaraderie.
In the kitchen, hidden from the innocent eyes of that little girl clutching her stuffed bunny and giggling, lurks the source of her aunt's amusement. Lying in a roast pan, with a kitchen towl like the shroud of turin over top, is the cooked carcass of none-other-than the Easter Bunny himself. And, while one mother and three children abstained from partaking in the mystery meat on the table, several of the other adults in the room said, "Hmmm... tastes interesting..."
Yep. You guessed it readers. That little girl was me about 30 years ago. And, it was my aunt that thought it would be amusing to serve rabbit on Easter.
I worshipped the Easter Bunny, reveling in the miracles of hidden eggs, chocolate bunnies in his image, jelly beans, colorful Easter grass and peeps. Oh, I was very devout when it came to the bringer of Easter goodness. Just the week prior I had made a picture for the Easter Bunny in our backyard using rocks and sidewalk chalk, before which I prayed that he wouldn't forget to put robin's eggs in my basket. I would have been mortified if I had known that my aunt cooked him for our Easter feast.
Perhaps on some level I knew. Really, was it any different than receiving holy communion in church. My small mind may have been able to imagine that the Easter Bunny would be resurrected in time to hide eggs and leave Easter baskets the following year. My mother was not about to take this chance.
Well, anyway, I don't really celebrate Easter anymore, though I do so still love the eggs, the bunnies, the colorful grass, the baskets, the cocktails...
Oh wait a minute. We never had Easter cocktails growing up. Well, my Aunt probably did. (You know I get it from somewhere right?)
Stay tuned!
Very fun post with an especially good ending.
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