I hope you enjoyed Easter weekend.
Our grandkids love Easter, what with the Easter Bunny and such. So for years, I have tried to persuade them that there really is no Easter Bunny. It is, in fact, an Easter Pig.
Evan was pretty disgusted with this. He was quite confident that it was a bunny. When I questioned how he knew that, when no one had ever seen the Easter Bunny, that it wasn’t a pig. He informed me that he had seen the bunny. Once. In a movie! So I guess it must be.
Gracy, our oldest and wisest grandchild learned the truth about Santa, the Easter Bunny, the elves, Leprechauns (but they are real, I can vouch for that), and such a few years ago. She and I were going somewhere together and as I drove, she spilled the beans and informed me of her newfound knowledge.
When she finished filling me in on the terrible truth (I’m really being careful here because I may have readers who are true believers), I mentioned the “tooth fairy.”
“No,” she exclaimed in despair, “Not the tooth fairy too!”
Which brings me back to the wee people, the Leprechauns. I was not always a believer. But, as my hair turned more gray, my shoulders started to slope, my night vision became more blurred, my middle started to expand, and I had to begin to wear suspenders, the “wee” people have become more and more involved in my life.
When I place my glasses by the phone, during the night they will place them by the computer. Or alongside my easy chair. Or on the dresser. Or in the pickup.
A couple of weeks ago, they stole a package of meat I had placed on the counter to thaw. And along with it, one of Shirley’s favorite platters. I searched high and low. In the fridge, the garbage, the doghouse, the dishwasher, the microwave, the bread drawer…it was gone. Vanished. I accused the neighbors of stooping so low as to steal the meat from my children’s mouths. They denied it, but you know how they are.
Then, on Saturday, when I stepped out on the deck and opened the grill to cook our first burgers of summer, there it was! Those little @#%#%@#% had taken that roast and placed it on the grill.
Shirley insisted I must have done it, and then forgot. But since she is Irish, she always sticks up for the little…never mind.
And once, mind you, only once, when I had returned home from a visit with friends on the north side of town, at 5 p.m., after I had gone to bed, they started my pickup and left it run all night!