Panties for Passover

Memories of Easter.

First there were Easter baskets hidden in the dishwasher. The Easter Bunny a.k.a worlds best dad used to come up with great hiding places and the dishwasher was one of the most memorable. Unlike my kids I only got candy in my basket, although I do remember a large, inflatable pink bunny. Now, what goes in baskets and how big to make them is a surprisingly controversial topic amongst my friends. The "no candy" camp prefers mainly toys, the "it's not a big deal" camp prefers mainly candy no toys. I've been stashing bits and pieces of things since Boxing Day sales, not that I mind candy, we have plenty of that too, it's just that I'm creative and like gift giving occasions. And I'm a great shopper as well so I really enjoy it.

Speaking of gift giving occasions, I've had to create my own. I have no idea if Passover is a gift giving occasion or not but come next Tuesday in my house it's going to be "Panties for Passover." See, my Huggyband's birthday is in December and somehow as a child he was traumatized by combined birthday/Christmas presents and worse yet underwear and socks as presents. So he's pretty adamant that underclothes of any variety don't count as gifts. I'm not. I'm practical. And since I can't give them as Christmas or birthday presents I've had to come up with creative reasons to give them, hence "Socks for Hanukkah" and "Panties for Passover." What that means is that last Hanukkah everyone in my family got a new package of socks lovingly wrapped in blue tissue paper. Fortunately they all laughed. Now here we are at Easter and since I can't stuff underwear in baskets I'm just borrowing Passover as an excuse to give it to them.

But meanwhile back to the past. Easters as a kid where pretty routine, baskets, frilly dresses, church and a ham dinner. No family nearby meant that it was usually just the 3 of us and that was fine. Everything is fine when there are chocolate eggs and trifle involved. When I was 7 I think we billeted hockey players for an annual international tournament. Billeting is a Canadian thing. Americans, at least my husband, have never heard of the word or the concept. Anyways, it means to put someone up for a night or so. What the kids would call "couch surfing" now. Good excuse to show some hospitality.

That hockey tournament would wind it's way back in to my life in the mid 90s. St. John's was responsible for providing first aid coverage at every single one of those hockey games throughout the entire tournament. Hockey in Kamloops in the spring; freezing cold arenas, early mornings, lots of coffee, lots of injuries, great people. One year in particular stands out. The nephew of a beloved "may as well be" uncle was coming from Saskatchewan to play in the tourney. The uncle and his family were coming in to town for it as well so it only made sense that I offer to do coverage for that particular team so that I could be of service and hang out with the family. The problem was that I had never met this hockey playing "may as well be"cousin or his dad. My plan for the very first morning was to scan the crowd for the man who looked the most like my uncle, introduce myself to him and we'd be all set. Well, as an only child there's some things I'll never be able to figure out, such as how siblings can look and act so different from each other. None of the parents of the Saskatchewan team looked anything like my uncle. My Uncle is a small guy and all of these men were big. My second choice was to talk to the friendliest looking parent and get them to point me in the right direction. Well the second choice turned out to be the right choice because when I told the friendly looking man who I was and why I was looking for Mr. G he laughed and said "Cass I AM Mr. G! You're uncle is my brother!' Laughter all around, soon my uncle and his family joined us and we were on our way to the next game. Turns out that the hockey playing cousin was playing with a broken arm and really shouldn't have been playing but it was a good opportunity for scouts to see him. It was also a good opportunity for the other teams to take advantage of his injury. We all watched him be cross checked into the boards and watched as a ref DIDN'T watch. My Uncle's family is French Canadian; they're all fluent in it including a young cousin in French immersion. When A was cross checked both his Dad and Uncle let forth a stream of curses in French and started yelling at the ref in French. My youngest cousin was standing in front of me and I clamped my hands over her ears to protect them. Good times, good times.

Easter would get even better when I discovered God and the amazing play that helped me find him. Tell you what? Let me work privately at the memories of Alive Again for a while and then I'll share them. Stay tuned!