Easter. Eggs.

I tried giving up expectation for Lent this year.  Not anticipation, but that other, drabber thing: like thinking I know what my husband and sons will do well, or do next.  Or thinking I even know what that ought to be.  I’m practicing the discipline of happy surprise.

For the past few years at Easter, we’ve gone together to paint ostrich eggs at a Nashville shop.  Rather, they paint.  I just admire.

At first, they produced Easter eggs like the ones in books:  mostly pastel, a little metallic paint, a little glitter,  a few glue-on ornaments.  Then one year, abruptly, their eggs veered off course.  Lucky me.

The Hobbit’s Misty Mountain.

The Eye of Sauron, with, verso,

Isengard.

And I still get a classic, every once in a while.

Happy (surprising) Easter to all.

It’s Hat Day.

We’ve hit the mid-winter slog.
But a battle on your head will put a spring in your step.