If Eggs Are Delivered, Shouldn't it be an Easter Chicken?

There are things about Easter that I don't understand.

I get the religious part of it. For Christians, after 40 days of subdued contemplation (Lent) and a particularly mournful Holy Week, Easter is a colorful celebration of new life. In my church, the lights literally go on and the music suddenly turns from hushed understated vocals to joyful full throttled organ and bells. It makes sense this holiday occurs during spring, when grass turns from brown to green and flowers start to pop out of the ground.

But outside of church, when American culture tries to jump on the Easter bandwagon, I get a little confused.

Secular Christmas, I get. I understand traditions around the winter solstice. I know where Santa originated and how the ancient pagan and Roman celebrations echo through our late December celebrations.

But what does a bunny delivering eggs have to do with Easter? In point of fact, why would a bunny be bringing eggs anyway? If something is supposed to deliver eggs, wouldn't an Easter chicken make more sense?

I suppose someone thought that since Christmas had Santa, Easter had to have some magical character who mysteriously visits in the dark of night, leaving things for children. It's like the Easter bunny evolved to make Christmas's lame holiday cousin more fun.

Yes, I said it. Easter is lame compared to Christmas.

Sure, Easter is liturgically more important, and actually more central to the Christian faith. For most of Christian history, Christmas wasn't even celebrated, or if it was, it was a drunken festival for hoodlums and troublemakers.

But these days, Christmas is the big one. That's when we pull out the stops, decorate our houses, and travel across the country to be with our families.

We try to work up some enthusiasm for Easter, but conjuring a bunny and decorating eggs doesn't quite do it. Even those disgusting marshmallow peeps don't add much more than a stomachache to the party.

Most of us don't get extra time off work. We might make an effort to go to church. Some of us might have Sunday dinner with the extended family. There may be leftover ham and cheesy potatoes during the following week. But Easter ain't no Christmas.

Don't get me wrong. I like Easter. I like spring and watching children hunt for eggs. I like looking at the ladies' hats in church. I like eating ham and cheesy potatoes.

But I don't understand the bunny. If some people enjoy it, that's ok. Maybe someone can explain it to me.

Carrie Fisher Can Wait but I Need a Quick Fix Read

There was a rush on Carrie Fisher books at the Denver Public Library. I was something like number 67 on a list of 110 who had requested Postcards From the Edge and Wishful Drinking. It seems the unexpected death of the  actress and writer, spokesperson for people with addictions and mental health problems, and daughter of Debbie Reynolds, had stimulated many patrons to want to read her caustic, insightful humor.

I've gotten into the habit of reserving books online at the library. I choose a book and I go to the DPL web site to see if they have it. If they do, I click a button to put it on hold. If and/or when it's available, they send it over to my local branch and I go to pick it up. It's a great service.

Why don't I buy the book, you ask? Are you kidding? Why would I spend money on something I can read for free?

I may splurge on travel and eating out, but when it comes to reading material, I'm cheap. The only time I buy books is if I read them over and over again (like Dorothy Sayers's Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane mysteries) or if I like a library book so much that I want to give it to someone.

You can even borrow electronic books from the library. It's a lot easier to carry around 10 books in a back pack if they are digitally packed into a Kindle.

The point is, I like to read. When I don't focus my brain on the flickering images of that 46 inch screen in the living room, or a smaller screen on my lap or in my hand (or, I suppose, when I'm not reluctantly interacting with the real world), I stare at symbols on a page which mystically transform into complex ideas that transport my mind to other places and thoughts.

I never go anywhere without a book. It's impossible to predict when the car is going to break down or I'm going to have to take someone to the emergency room - either instance requiring me to sit for hours in an uncomfortable waiting area surrounded by other unfortunate people with a television in the corner blaring sports.

If I'm at lunch alone in a cafeteria or restaurant, I have to have a book. Other people just look at their smart phones while they eat. That would only keep me occupied for about a minute. I don't get that many emails.

The thought of a long flight, or even sitting at the airport gate waiting to board, is unbearable if I don't have reading material while I'm waiting.

It probably has something to do with ADHD. If I don't have something to focus on, my mind goes flying all over the place. I'm sure Carrie Fisher would understand.