Roll back that Stone

Easter Sunday. As I write those two words, long held images immediately come to mind. I see white patent leather shoes and a pastel colored dress, printed with hideous '70's style flower power daises which, come to think of it, are back in style. I smell the sugary melange sticking to the green Easter grass in my woven plastic easter basket. A stew of jelly beans, yellow and pink "peeps", See's candy eggs in polka dotted foil wrapping and the star of the show - a milk chocolate Bunny lording it over all the other lowly candies. My Boss Bunny knows that he will survive well past the bite sized supporting cast of candies, before he is dismembered, ear by ear and paw by paw until finally he is reduced to one last chocolaty chomp.

Ahhhh.........Easter Sunday in 1960's-'70's Los Angeles. Yesterday was Easter Sunday in Paris, 2008.

In the intervening 30 + years Easter is one holiday that has not suffered too many different incarnations. I suppose that is not unusual. Just like Christmas and Thanksgiving, there are certain traditions that remain largely unchanged, clung to fiercely as the years pass. Ham, chocolate eggs, new clothes, a day that almost always dawns brightly (God sees to this one).

Yesterday, my first Easter in Paris looked different, though it did start out sunny, right on cue. The holiday, as you all know, was very early this year. In fact, so early, that it was sprung on me near the end of last week. I was out of the Lenten loop this year. That may have been a slice of self preservation at work in my sub-conscience. You see, last Easter I had looked toward the promise of renewal as I flew to San Diego to be reunited with my husband after his long monastic retreat and subsequent work assignment. All our wonderful girls would be celebrating with us as well as all of my siblings, lots of cousins, extended family and friends. Easter was all organized to do its normal job. Instead, the resurrection was canceled.

So much of what we are taught in religion is, I think, metaphorical. It is a way for us to make sense of our lives and instill the faith we need to keep moving through the muck. The faith that there are rewards and happiness, not on the other side of a set trials and tests that once suffered, are over forever, but interspersed all along the way. Christ rose from the dead after 3 days buried in a tomb. My renewal has taken the better part of a year - my metaphorical 3 days.

So instead of white patent leather shoes on either my girlhood self, or on the eight little feet of my daughters,  yesterday we three Carey Parisians, were clad in the comfort of stay-at-home cozy wear serenaded by John Coltrane. After a long morning coffee, I climbed on a velib (the public bikes of Paris) and pedaled all over my new home town. Though my ride began in sunshine, I even put on my sunglasses!, it was COLD. Really cold. My hands and feet quickly became ice cubes as my core heated up.

I rode past grand monuments and around frenetic traffic circles which have become routine. I passed groups of church goers whose black coats I presume hid their Easter finery (do they do that here?) and joggers in the Jardin du Luxembourg. There is a difference between being lonely and being solitary. Yesterday I was solitary on this bike ride and it gave me the opportunity to allow the events of the past year to flash through my mind as the elegant landmarks of Paris flashed by my speeding bike.

My ride began in sunshine and ended with storm clouds gathering, in ironic opposition to this past year sandwiched between 2 Easters. Last Easter was unbearably sad, shrouded in darkness and this Easter, a timid, but glimmering light is pushing through the cracks.

The French do many of the same things we do in honor of Easter but with their own twist. The Easter Bells rather than the Easter Bunny brings chocolate eggs and bunnies and chicks to the children. They roast a leg of lamb rather than a ham, and make a Pate' de Paque where we might have roasted asparagus. But they spend the day enjoying their families just as we do.

I roasted my leg of lamb, gigot d'agneau, prepared the surrounding dishes, baked a beautiful raspberry Clafoutis and played the Easter Bunny for my daughters. We poured glasses of champagne and toasted daughters 2 & 3 whom, though asleep in their beds 9 hours behind us on the West Coast, were with us in spirit around the table.

There is a new, though fragile peace, settling into our lives. The promise of rebirth has been upheld, I can see the end of those long dark days in the tomb. Someone finally found the strength to roll back that stone blocking the way ...........and I think that someone was me. It just took me a while.

Comments

[Janet Robinson]

Mary,
Can I have some of your genes and brains? Just an ounce of your faith and determination?
Glad to hear you are doing so well.
Janet

[mary c]

You are TOO nice Janet! But yes, I am doing well after lots of learning. What is this about England? Are you there with Sandy?? Let's email.

[Carrie]

Janet,
I agree with Mary! What is this about England?! Fess up, girl!