Being that it is Easter, Fang found it necessary to keep repeating the above statement today. As in "He is risen. Let there be swine" or "He is risen. Let us boil the rutabaga" or "He is risen. Let us slice the babka." He is such a handful sometimes.
We passed a beautiful Easter day in Queens with The Aunts. Of course there were copious boiled root vegetables (my colon, and only my colon, thanks The Aunts for this cleansing digestive). We brought a ham that was the size of Andre The Giant's head. It was garnished with pineapple slices and maraschino cherries because The Aunts like traditional presentation. We sat around the table and sipped a dubious Hungarian pinot noir that Aunt Bert had won in a Polish church raffle. We took a walk after the meal and passed the multiple brick homes that are a hallmark of Queens. They were decked out with plastic Easter bunnies and shrines to the Virgin Mary. Front facing windows were festooned with poster signs wishing those passing by a Happy Easter in pastel colors. In one disturbing tableau, the window featured a golden lit pulsating cross, a ceramic representation of the Virgin Mary clutching a red heart and the manikin of a toddler dressed as the Easter Bunny. I cursed myself for having forgotten my camera. It was so, so disturbing.
I grew up agnostic so it wasn't until I was in my early teens that I actually realized that Easter had something to do with that cat Jesus. And I never quite figured out why the day they crucified the dude was called Good Friday. I would think that it should have been called Most Unfortunate Friday. Or Bad Friday. Or a really Fucked Up Friday. That's just me, but come on--Good Friday? I am never going to get that.
At the end of the day, I realized that Aunt Stella's birthday was coming up. Aunt Stella is 93 years old and razor sharp in mind and body. She's rarely ill, energenic, mobile and lively. I turned to her and said, "Stella, will you be 93 this May?" She quickly corrected me. "I will be 94, God willing." "My God," said I, "you are a marvel. I can't believe it." "Yeah," she said with a blissful tone, "and if I had known I was going to live this long, I would have taken better care of myself."
I can't make this stuff up. Happy Easter.
3 comments:
It is called Good Friday because that is the day that Jesus took all of the world's sins onto his back and died for us all. He took on all the sins of the world so that we could have everlasting life. If that's not good, I dont know what is. It's pretty damn good to me.
Also, he knew even though they were brutalalizing him on the cross, that it was for the good of mankind. That is why it is called "Good Friday" He is risen...he is risen indeed.
'He is risen' doesn't have anything to do with... err nervermind!
:-)
I always wondered about the "good" thing too. I'm pretty sure I'd be considered agnostic too - that's when you really don't know what you believe for sure about the whole god deal, right? ;-)
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