There are three occasions in which I believe a so-called backslider such as myself ought to step across the threshold of the church house throughout the course of the year: pastor appreciation, homecoming and Easter. For reasons obvious to all, I did not get to attend sunrise service this year.

It wouldn’t have been much of a sunrise anyway, what with the sky full of clouds and rain. But the old-time singing would have been as sweet.

In lieu of that, I listened to the Hee-Haw Gospel Quartet while I worked on cooking Easter dinner.

As everyone I know has said, this was a different sort of Easter.

Easter is my turn at holiday hosting. Both sides of the family gather at my house here each year for dinner and an egg hunt. It’s one of the few times a year I get my house good and clean.

It was just us this year. Though there are only four of us, and one of us only takes formula, I insisted that cooking a turkey was still necessary. All morning I slaved over my best apple-pie to date, sweet potato casserole, macaroni and corn casserole to go with my turkey. It would have been a lovely lunch, except that Michael had homework and had to be holed up in the baby’s room working on that most of the day.

I tried to keep my cheer about me, though bad weather loomed near. The children and I snuggled in the bedroom watching television and occasionally snacking on Easter candy. When my hunger was about to get the best of me I ate a peanut butter sandwich. The kids both napped, so I took a bath and changed right back in to a nightgown. Though it wasn’t nearly nighttime I didn’t see any point in getting dressed and most of my clothes were dirty anyway.

The sugar that I consumed made me very tired and ill. The dinner that took me hours to make only took minutes to eat, and the boy was so full of chocolate that he barely had one noodle of macaroni. Before I could hardly take a breath Michael was up trying to throw my bag of scraps for compost  away and I just had no more energy for the day.

Unfortunately the day was far from over because I had to stay up at watch the weather until nearly midnight. I was surely thankful that I didn’t have to wake the kids and get them in the bathtub, though I did go ahead and get dressed at about 10:30 that night because I wouldn’t want to be caught up in a bad storm in my granny style nightgown.

Just about the time I got into a good sleep an alarm went off on my phone that would wake the dead and nearly scared me half to death just to alert me of a flash flood warning.

A few hours later I woke up to tell Michael he ought not go to work because the roads were flooded, but he never listens when I tell him he ought not go. I went on the front porch and looked for a moment at the full moon shining down on the flooded field in front of my house. What with the wind blowing considerably hard yet, it reminded me of the ocean, and I took a minute to imagine that that was my permanent view. Then I went back to sleep.

Easter was over. It wasn’t a bad day. I mean, the apple pie was very good. It was just different.

Danielle Wallingsford Kirkland is a former Sentinel staff writer and correspondent. She can be reached at

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