Good Friday, Great Friday…

It’s Good Friday.
Amazingly, it’s a corporate “floating” holiday.
It is moreover a day wrought with spiritual symbolism, full of darkness and imminent light.

It’s dark on this Midwest morning as I ponder atoning for not having written all week.
The sound of the laptop keys is… annoying, actually.

It’s a pen and paper day.
A silly day to run errands and do all those make-up tasks that working families don’t typically get to during the week.
I gaze around the kitchen, at the floor that needs a scrubbing, at this table that wants a lovely cloth over its heirloom mottled wood-ness.

In spite of the wind and constant spit of  rain, there is a suburban mower at work; the machine drones like a drill.
I’ve already put in  a load of laundry.
Read? No.
Work? (there’s tons of it piled up here). No, I’ll sweep it away to the desk upstairs.

Here at the kitchen counter, we’ll make lists for Easter dinner and the baskets. Of course we’ll do baskets! HM will deliver a basket to Snarl at university next Tuesday. Snarl will laugh and say all that sugar is awful. He’ll eat the contents nonetheless, sharing with friends. Nor will have hers with some Eastery plushness.

At church there will be lilies.
It will be good to see them, to smell them, to embrace Easter from the hardness of the church pew.

HM will wake up the kitchen.Nor will come home very early from her fiance’s parents’ house. My mom will share the afternoon and dinner with us, too. We will get outdoors, no matter the mood of  M. Nature.

Easter is the wonderful thing about Spring.

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