But first, this message. . .

So it is one of those days, in which you should feel differently than you do; but you don’t.  And you should be getting things done, but you aren’t.  You should feel differently because the dogwoods and the azaleas are in bloom; because you planted grapevines yesterday and because the first lonely scout asparagus is coming up.  You should feel better than you do because you have talked with both your son and your mother today, and they are doing well, you have fetched precious raw milk for your family and two others and had to drive through those flowering dogwoods and azaleas to get there.

But instead, someone, unknowingly, has reminded you of a poison center in your past and you have spent days working on questions about it, as this person is doing an analysis of the organization where this event took place.  And while you were working on answering the questions about these events some 25 years ago, this week, only a few days ago, a neighbor (your age) was stabbed several times and killed by her nephew. And then you realize that this is the same extended family where a young man took out a contract on his pregnant girlfriend and he is now serving two sentences for two murders.

And you ask yourself, why am I disturbed by composted memories when there is a family next door with two murderers and three murders to deal with? And you wonder, briefly, in the cavernous vacancy of their grief, would a casserole help?

But back to your troubles: while you were searching through 25-year-old memories, both of the queens died in your new beehives, and a beloved grandfather of beloved neighbors also died.  But the dogwoods and azaleas are still blooming.

And it is EasterTime.  Time of renewal and hopefulness.  And still, you feel the way you do.  Because that poison center, as much as you have worked on detoxing it, still bleeds.  And someone has poked it, again, and it still bleeds its toxins.  You have prayed and prayed some more.  You have been to therapy.  You have lit candles and more candles, and had fits and then prayed.

Eventually, you will move on.  You know that.  

You are on a diet so you can’t make yourself feel better like you sometimes do, and you are on a diet because of the number of times you have made yourself feel better that way.

Eventually, you will move on.

Meanwhile, the dogwoods and azaleas bloom. 

And it is time to make a casserole.