The Elusive Egg

I should preface this post by saying that I do not understand the millennial generation; they of the “everyone gets a trophy” and “pass or fail” grading scale. In my upbringing there were winners and losers and the kids who won got to be cocky jerks, poor winners, and flaunt their glistening trophies in everyone’s face. In a way I think it served as motivation.

In that light, not everyone was guaranteed an Easter egg either. The Hunt in pursuit of the elusive Easter egg sure has changed since the version that was popular during my childhood. If you were lucky…or should I say physical enough to find an egg, you kept it, if not…tough. Didn't find any eggs? Too bad, go home and cry in your milk.

My experience was that The Hunt of my youth was a much more aggressive, grab-what-you-can, full-body-contact affair. The adults who planned The Hunt were merciful enough to divide the kids by age groups: toddlers up to age five, six to eight year olds, nine to twelve year olds. Twelve was the cut-off, once you became a teenager adults assumed you were too old for such childish pursuits and should be off hunting and killing your own dinner.

The Hunt was held in the big field near the big tire in Freeport Community Park. (NOTE: There were no soccer fields then….we were Americans and played American-originated sports.) I don’t recall the area being roped off; I think the expanse of the grassy area lead to more of a free-for- all, contact sport that was fueled by the all-out blood-lust for a colored egg filled with jelly beans and the maniacal pursuit of the elusive gold-colored money egg.

Kids on Tang-induced and Pop-Tart- fueled sugar highs lined up in one long, jittery, jumpy, and jockeying for position, horizontal line. The whistle blew and The Hunt was on.

There were some poor kids who never made it off the starting line; they had “Chuck E. Taylor” tread marks on their backs. Some kids hunted in ravenous packs and were to be avoided. Others ran after the leaders hoping that where there was one egg there must surely be more. Bad move. Never happens that way. Besides, by the time the followers got there the area was cleaned out and all that was left were the spoils of the hunt evidenced in empty candy wrappers.

The Hunt was individualistic and pugilistic.

I heard of the fabled money egg, yet, I never knew one kid who found it. As for me, I once came upon a brightly colored, appeared to be yellow-tinted, glistening in the morning sunshine egg that was hidden in an arch in the monkey bar set. Eyes wide, I raced for the egg. So did another kid whose name I did not know, yet, her kick to my shins left quite an impression. She claimed that egg. I think her family moved into a really big house later that year.

I stopped attending The Hunt.

Instead, I enjoyed the family-lead egg hunts around the house where the challenge was in finding the eggs not fighting over them. In later years, the Snyder Easter Egg Hunts involved maps and eggs with clues that lead to even bigger treasure. It was creative, it was challenging, it was fun.

Happy….and I do emphasize the word happy….hunting.

sj;

I'm so angry I could just....

Waking up in late March to three or four inches of heavy, wet snow may make one have thoughts of grilled groundhog. In the past week or two you have used an expletive before the word groundhog?
Been guilty of road rage? Do you stare down or honk-off the driver who cuts in front of you?
Ever curse Pirates owner, Bob Nutting and his spending or lack thereof?

Anger. We get it, spew it, stew in it.
Being angry over groundhogs, tailgaters, and tight-wad owners are blips in our emotional read-out, inconveniences that quickly pass.

Yet, what about being truly angry about what matters? I read a quote that stated, "Had we been truly paying attention we would have been angrier more." I like it. I understand it. In the work of justice, anger often fuels the advocacy and undergirds the efforts. I think one should become angry when witnessing how people live in oppressive poverty, how white-collar cheats are celebrated and persons receiving benefits are stigmatized, and how greed and bluster deplete both our nation's moral character and bank account.

Women are raised to not get angry. Yelling or swearing or pointing fingers and demanding ultimatums have for a long time been seen as "unbecoming" in a lady.
Guess I won't ever become one.

The Christian tradition holds that on the Monday of Holy Week Jesus became angry, knocked over some temple tables, and called people names. He was angry.

He was irate over how the faith had become a surface faith that was shallow, money-focused, and indiffrent to the plight of persons who are poor. Hmmmmm......

Maybe we are just not invested enough in the conditions of our world to be angry. That's a shame. Heaven knows, there is a lot to be angry about.

sj;

Water Ways

Here in Pittsburgh with our three rivers and many creeks and lakes and streams we know the work and wonder and play of water. It is true that we are drawn to water. We vacation at the ocean, we spend an afternoon near the banks of lakes and ponds, and water supports our industry.

Water, that most precious of resources is so essential to life --- water: bathe, wade, quench, sip, gulp, wash, splash, dive, refresh, sustain.

The global community celebrated WORLD WATER DAY earlier this weekend. For over 750,000 citizens of our shared world, water is a scarce resource. Thousands of women walk several miles each day to gather water for the cooking, cleaning, watering of crops and livestock. They endure years-long droughts. Companies intervene and stake claim to water-ways and place fees on what once was free-flowing.

Here, in the United States we tend to take water for granted. When thirsty, we turn on the spigot or reach in the fridge for a plastic bottle of water. What must three-fourths of the world think about that? With little a thought or concern of if the water will be there, we take our showers, brush our teeth, wash our dishes, even fill-up balloons and squirt guns for water battles. Last summer's drought that baked the midwest shocked us with the apocalyptic-tinged images of miles upon miles of withered, shrunken, burnt acres of corn or the cracked rows of rutted dirt. However, the initial shock quickly passed and the heavy snowfalls of this winter have thankfully filled the water table.

Today, in the many ways you will use water...first....pause. Think. Reflect on this most precious of resources. Consider what it must be like for the thousands who must walk and work for the water we receive so easily.

For an additional exercise, in the readings and reflections and remembrances of this Holy Week, look for the role that water plays in these stories. If not mentioned directly in the text, consider how water was present and what it lends to the story.

Water...the very start of our creation begins there.

sj;