When is Easter anyway?

I'm not that much of a holiday follower, unless the shopping facilities remind of of the fact. Baskets and marshmallow peeps are apparently overflowing at the wall-e-world, we dashed past the other evening long enough to set some animatronics in action and spy a mildly disturbing Easter basket collection.

For a religious holiday marking the last supper and Jesus' death, who gives their kid an easter basket containing an arsenal of toy weapons? Obviously someone who has stripped the religion out of the holiday and replaced it with a bunny... who happens to be destined for a stewpot. Kiwww the waabbbiit, kiwww the waabbbitt.

As a kid it never really meant anything more than the last snowstorm of the season. It was inevitable the egg hunt was made slightly more difficult by a foot of snow burying them, with a few colorful surprises appearing on the lawn after the meltdown.

The glint of sun the past few days has reminded me that there might be a spring, I might be able to feel my toes again, or touch them again for that matter after I pull the bicycle out for my post season weight shed. There's nothing like a little vitamin D to boost the mood.

Maybe we need to dose the water with some D. Maybe if the country pulls out of their collective seasonal affective disorder, we will start seeing recovery. Either that or it's wabbit hunting season for us all.

Whoo hoo... I'm filler!

I can't say that is the first time I've been mentioned on page 1 of the Mirror, but yes, the first time for my feeble attempt at being a blogger. There are many much more qualified Kodiak blogosphere candidates, so my guess is that since no one has openly suspected I am me, it bears slightly more credence than if I was posting under my given name. That, and they needed to fill that sidebar column with something. Gotta love the slow news day.

Props to the Great and Powerful Ishter for holding down the fort and actually consistently posting. I've got to say, he is the Blogger King.

Speaking of forts, snowsuits were donned and I am writing this while waiting for one snowsuit to get un-donned so a kidling can pee. There is something about a snowsuit zipper that seems to trigger neurons that fire the bladder alarm, maybe it is a Pavlovian response to being trapped in down. We are heading out to make use of this white stuff that will probably be slush tomorrow. Kid one has planned a fortress, but I'm guessing it will end up either as two giant snowballs that will live in our yard until the next complete thaw, or a few mounds of snow that are used as a slushball barricade. I'm already stocked with a shield, seniority seems to call for insubordinace of the sneaking snowball to the head kind.

Zipped and buttoned, we're going outside to get cold and wet!