Happy Easter Weekend -- by KittyCat

On Easter Monday, some folks get a day off, but at our house, it’s plain old Monday. Snook said Mom is self-employed, so she doesn’t get money if she doesn’t work. Heck, I know for sure, most of the time she doesn't get any money when she does work.

Snook’s mom, my Aunt Pen doesn’t get paid. Nobody in her office gets paid, and they all work double, cuz it’s hard to find people to work for nothing. And then there’s this office near us where the government pays people who say they want to work, but don’t. I don’t get it.

Anyhow Easter holiday weekend started Friday, and my friend Sophie, the only dog I know about my size, stayed with us. Sophie’s mom forgot to pack toys. Sophie and I chased a golf ball around for a time, but then all of a sudden Sophie sat down and wouldn’t play anymore. She likes to chew on her toys, and when she bit into it, its innards made snapping sounds, and bit her right back. Then she barked at that ball while giving it a good kick. Next she ran to the door, terrified, cuz the ball kept snapping and jumping a bit like it had gremlins.

Friday night was fun, too. I hardly ever get to stay outside after dark, but Mom and Dad were late getting to an art show, so didn’t take time to put me in the house. I chased birds from three yards, but at dark, I headed for my porch chair cuz Doggie was out again.

Oh, I found out about Doggie. His (not her) real name is Stooee, or Stuy, or something like that. Don’t  know why they didn’t name him Squeegee so you can find it in a dictionary and spell it right.

I guess nobody told the mutt you’re sposed to be good on Good Friday, and he barked at a little girl. That got her dad upset, cuz the little girl started crying.

 Next, here came the animal police driving real slow down our street, and around the alley, and then parked in front of our house for a long time. Makes you wonder if they knew it was Good Friday, cuz hauling dogs to jail for barking doesn’t seem like a very nice thing to do. Maybe the dog catchers were all ticked cuz they had to work while some folks got paid for not working that day.

When Mom took Sophie for a walk on Saturday, I went along. She let Sophie run back and forth by a wooden fence and annoy Devon, a real big puppy that lives near us. You could tell how Devon wanted out of the yard so badly. If she had, it would’ve taken half the neighborhood to fence her again. Devon flunked out of dog training school. I think it was on purpose, cuz she outsmarts people trying to catch her. She sits, tail wagging til they get close, then takes off running, sitting again just out of reach. There’s no fun like watching flustered humans.

Cat’s training has fancier name, so costs more money. The vet suggested Mom take me to one, but Dad said anybody who’d put good money out for a cat shrink needs to see one themselves.

Sunday wasn’t so fun for me, cuz Sophie went home, but it was kinda funny—well maybe not for Mom. Dad went to church with her, so they took his truck. In church Mom got sick from a pill that’s sposed to make a person better. Figure that one. Anyhow, on the way home she actually puked. Glad it was in Dad’s truck, cuz when I have to go somewhere its usually in Mom’s car.

At home, she went to sleep for a bit, and then was squeezed for time to get supper ready. No big deal, usually, but Easter Sunday is always company day, so supper is at a certain time. Everybody ended up bringing their own food, sort of. Mom got fried chicken and ice-cream, She served it with letter-shaped cookies that read “Happy Easter.” 

Even if we didn’t get Monday included in our holiday weekend, all in all, it was a Happy Easter weekend.

(c) 2012 Bernice W. Simpson

"Living Stones"

Here on Easter weekend, when thoughts turn to renewal of our spiritual lives, of the greening of our land, of refreshing rain, and life-yielding soil, I can’t look at a rock and see only an innate object. From pinhead-sized grains of stone to high mountains, they are dynamic and to me represent the substance of the planet that allows organisms to thrive.

The epitome of summer, the sand we love to sink our toes into at the water’s edge has a far greater importance than giving us joy. In our gardens it prevents soil from packing too firmly; thus facilitates the growth of plant roots and the flow of air in the soil. Sand is not alive, and its usefulness rarely given a thought. But what is used to produce the glass jug that contains ice-water, so welcome on a hot day? –Rock decomposed into sand.

It is little wonder the Bible is full of references to rock, stones, and sand. As it does today, rock had practical applications; it was abundant, and rare specimens were valued for their beauty.

But most rocks are nondescript—simply hard masses of compressed minerals, usually neutral in color, and dull. Yet, I can imagine Jesus and His disciples reaching down now and again to pick up a stone along the roads or lakeside because it stood out from those around it. I look at rocks in our travels or in pictures and sense a connection—a kind of lifeline—to those days, to our shared world, however changed, it consists of the same basic materials.

 My travel souvenirs are cheap (or were before airlines charged for checked bags). My favorites are fossilized rocks containing imprints of ancient life forms, and fossilized tree branches, their cells so completely silicated that the bark still looks like wood from a recently-felled tree.

I wonder about the plants that once grew in the variegated layers of certain stratified rock, and how many microscopic animals comprised the brilliantly white pebbles I collected along the shores of Lake Winnipeg. I’m curious about what escaping gasses formed the tunnels in the volcanic specimens in my yard. Crystals in cracks of chalcedony fascinate me, and now that we have DNA testing, I wonder what residual evidence of unknown ancient life exists deep inside them.

Earlier this year a daily devotional I was reading began with a quotation from 1 Peter 2:5. The author of the devotional drew an analogy between stones and mosaics. The premise: stones once chipped to pieces and arranged to create mosaic murals seemed to take on something akin to life. Perhaps some would agree with that author: before rocks can represent life, they must be painstakingly manipulated into mosaics or sculpture, or melted into separate elements for artistic casting.

Each to his own. Long before I discovered dozens of commentaries on the passage, 1Peter 2:5, the analogy between the Christian and “living stones” made perfect sense to me.

(c) 2012, Bernice W. Simpson

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 Normally I write about writing on weekends, but I felt this special weekend deserved  a change. --b