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Thursday, April 1, 2010

Seek and Enjoy

Spring is a glorious time of days filled with sparkling sunshine, blooming flowers, and flooded basements. I can tell it’s spring at my house when the sewer backs up and the toilet overflows like a baby with a double mouthful of strained peas. The plumber marks his annual trip out to my house on his calendar right next to “Order New Mercedes.”

About the only thing I hate worse than the first flush of spring is the annual Easter egg hunt at Dad’s farm. This year, Easter comes at the first of April, so it’s possible that the two events may coincide like a slingshot-launched rock and a plate glass window, only in this case the thing that gets launched is a good deal less desirable as a projectile than a rock.

I’m just as helpless at the egg hunt as I am in cases of explosive plumbing malfunctions. And to make matters worse, now that Easter is rolling around like the last jelly bean in the bowl, I’m running out of ways to disguise my nonconformity. It’s like trying to disguise one of the white keys on a jazz piano. I’m seek-challenged. I couldn’t find the spots on a ladybug without a field guide and labeled specimen. If it were up to me, all the hidden eggs would find a home in the wild.

I can hide eggs with no trouble. I’m the one that thought of putting the cracked one under the seat of the car when we were kids. It’s still there. I’m anticipating an ugly phone call from Dad any day. Reminder to self: Sign up for caller ID.

But when it comes to finding eggs, I can scramble all day and come up with nothing but an empty basket. Especially now that I’m at the stage of life where every morning starts off with a hunt. As I get older—I won’t say mature as that can lead to lawsuits from the false advertising people—I couldn’t find a lost thought with an All Points Bulletin and a Vulcan mind meld. I haven’t been able to locate my belly button since the baby was born, and I wouldn’t recognize my own knees in a police lineup. Note to self: Order college graduation announcements for the baby.

When I was a kid, the Easter Bunny used to hide “pity eggs” out in plain sight to make sure I could find them. He could have dyed them neon colors, dotted them with iridescent sequins, and implanted them with a tracking device that emitted a sound that would shatter Plexiglass, and I would still wander from shrub to shrub saying, “Am I hot? Give me a hint.”

Last weekend, while rearranging furniture in an attempt to find my glasses, I discovered a plastic candy-filled egg in one of the nooks in my desk. Inside was a tiny candy bar huddled in a faded wrapper.

The kids acted like it was a moon rock. “Look! It’s one of last year’s Easter Eggs that we never found!”

That does it. I’m through with egg hunts. It won’t bother me if I never see my navel again, but if my chocolate detector is lost, I’ve got nothing left to dye for.


Anonymous said...

Jesus is back!





Oh Easter, you're such a contradiction of traditions.

Good luck on finding your mind and ignore the chirping from under the couch. I'm sure that no baby chicks hatched under it.

Amy Mullis said...

You made me laugh out loud. Huzzah!

Kirsten Lesko said...

"About the only thing I hate worse than the first flush of spring is the annual Easter egg hunt at Dad’s farm."

That sentence is just all kinds of wrong. And I LOVE it.

Amy Mullis said...

Wrong just naturally happens to me like chance encounters with old friends happen to other people. I've learned to appreciate it!

Carole said...

So it seems that I'm not the only one with springtime plumbing issues. Yay us.

I considered leaving a basket of chocolate eggs on your doorstep. I have since decided that it's time to dust off the bunny costume and ring your doorbell. For ease of identification, I'll be the one in the bunny suit. The eggs will be in the basket beside the GPS.

Anne (aka "stormie") said...

Please, please, please, Amy, put a keyboard alert at the top of your posts! You always make me laugh. I too was never good at finding the hidden eggs.

Amy Mullis said...

Carole--Okay I see the eggs, but I can't find the GPS!

Anne--I live to make people spew. My work here is done. . .for today! Wonder what I can think of for next time?