Easter 2016

Dave Kenison's cartoon, 1973

Easter Sunday has many memories for me.  From a Catholic childhood, it's an inherently sweet holiday. It comes after forty days of purple covered artwork in churches, feigned sadness, and the guilt-ridden pretense of giving up something for Lent, all of which culminates in scoldings on Good Friday should I smile or hum a tune. So the Easter egg hunt on Sunday was a welcome relief.

Randy Wollenmann's creation, 2016

Easter isn't as big a deal as Christmas, but it's more significant than other annual events, whether Memorial Day or the opening day of boating season. It's somewhere with Thanksgiving or the Fourth of July, neither of which were celebrated in Australia when I was growing up.

Easter means Spring. It's a Spring festival. That by itself brings up sweet memories of waking up one Easter Sunday at the University District house in Seattle to one of those rare sunny days in Lower Alaska with a gloriously blue sky. Outside my window, the huge cherry tree was in full bloom. It was stupendous.

This Easter Sunday created some new memories and some new associations.

My Easters will forever be enriched knowing that in Martha's family, they have been cooking rabbits on each Easter Sunday for decades. Martha's daughter, Jamie, did us the honors by barbecuing this iconic symbol of Spring.

I don't know why we are squeamish about the idea of eating rabbits. Lord knows, they are pesky varmints in any garden. We eat cows, pigs, lamb, fish, and chicken. What's the deal with bunny wabbits?

I admit that I made a note of the butcher where Jamie got her rabbit, and I paid close attention to how she cooked it because it was scrumptious.

We had no reservations about ham, a traditional Christian food for such auspicious occasions as Easter and Christmas. We maintained the hoary tradition for our Sunday celebration,

My Easters will forever be enriched knowing that grown ups can still enjoy Easter egg hunts, wear silly hats, and smile for the camera.

What are your Easter traditions?

Wa:k Pow Wow

We cannot take credit for this wonderful photo.
It's taken from the Wa:k Pow Wow Facebook page.

We had the good fortune of attending the pow wow in San Xavier del Bac (or, in the alphabet devised to write the Pima language used by the Tohono O'odham people, Wa:k). The Wa:k Pow Wow is the largest in Southern Arizona and attracts indigenous people from several states; many from Oklahoma.

The Mission San Xavier is a small place and a small portion of the Tohono O'odham ("Desert People") nation, most of its allocated land being on the other side of the Baboquivari Mountains. But San Xavier is just south of Tucson and boasts the most beautiful mission church in the United States. The church is a five-star must-see, obviously popular with tourists who not only get to see the "Dove of the Desert", but also get a good glimpse of how indigenous people like the Tohono O'odham preserve their traditions, in this example, many of which are adopted and adapted from the Spanish.

The Pow Wow was held down the hill behind the church in a dusty baseball diamond surrounded by modest metal bleachers. Around the area were numerous booths selling jewelry, T'-shirts, bottles of cold water, and probably close to ten or twelve areas selling what seems to the the major export from the San Xavier Mission: fry bread.

We got seats in the already crowded venue about an hour before the "Grand Entry", scheduled for one o'clock that Saturday afternoon. We saw white people wearing Kokopelli T-shirts (a somewhat sexually vulgar symbol to indigenous people) and brown people wearing Cleveland Indian baseball caps. But what impressed us most was the friendliness we experienced everywhere. Nice people.

Apache drumming and chanting filled the time as one, then two gourd dancers, both older men, elegantly stepped around the open area. During breaks in the chant, a jovial, soft-spoken announcer talked about the schedule, indigenous people, encouraging participants to get ready, and not block others' view.

The Grand Entry was a parade that came down the hill below the church. The crowd had thickened in that area, so the announcer asked the people to move aside to let the parade through. "It's like what the government asked indigenous people to do," he sweetly jested. All laughed. The entire atmosphere was so friendly, there was no room for misunderstanding.

The Grand Entry was led by four flag-bearers carrying the flags of the United States, Arizona, the Tohono O'odham nation, and the black flag for those missing in action that originated out of the Vietnam experience. The participants followed, dancing to the sound of drums and chanting.

I confess. I teared up. People were honoring symbols associated with the prejudice, violence, and greed that robbed them of land, livelihood, culture, and life.

Some white folks joined the parade and danced with the elegantly dressed participants. The announcer had encouraged any and all to join in. That's a pretty amazing invitation on oh so many levels.

First Day of Spring

First day of Spring?  Really?

We had out stretch of cold weather. I suppose that was Winter. I complained about it because for about three weeks in January it froze each morning.

Swimming pool temperature was as low as around 50°F. Then the weather got warmer, so in February we covered the pool with our solar blanket. Now it's up to about 83°F. 

So this is how we celebrated the last day of winter.