For reasons you don’t really need to know, all the physical photos I owned were burnt recently. It’s only one of the many results of those fires, but now I have very few photographs of my life pre-digital camera. So it was a nice thing to come across the picture recently, in an electronic copy of a zine I had made for my grandmother about seven years ago.
That’s me. Easter morning.
Check that giant packet of eggs in my left hand, and still, I’m losing my little red overall self over the discovery of one more egg in the tree. That’s my grandpa standing behind me, clapping because he’s happy because I’m happy.
Which is a nice part of being a little kid.
Now, I don’t get that much into Easter, not even the long weekend part of it, and I lead a largely secular life and though I am concerned with what it means to be good and what it means to not be good, I don’t think of this in terms of God and such, though I’d be lying to say there wasn’t some hidden Catholic guilt still getting about in my system.
Now, I am much more interested in the good egg of a good friend, a nice day, an easy ride, a light afternoon, a warm bowl of soup.
No helmets, because wordpress is sucking today. Either that or my internet connection.
Ride safe.
eleanor j jackson 