The bread dough rises
in the oven
for the cinnamon rolls
my dad makes every year
Is the way Easter always begins
here
Stuck in tradation
The eggs are all
dyed
not unlike
my Savior
Only He wasn't
hot pink
His blood dark
crimson
more like the beets
my mom and I eat
with horseradish
adds a twinge of bitterness
to the sweets.
Always there is
the Lamb
made of butter
and we never like
to cut off his head.
Why is that?
Today
my sister's basket broke
filled to the brim
for many years
of Easter mornings
always
excatly the same.
Back in college, in 2004 when blogging was hardly even a thing yet, I was here. Blogging before blogging meant anything to anyone. You can look in the archives for my past writings, but it was much more like a journal in the past. When we started fundraising, I messed around with the idea of launching something new for this new phase of our journey but actually hated that idea. I am a sum of all of my life and so much of it is here already. So I'm keeping it here. At least for now.
My main focus these days is blogging about our newest journey into the bizarre and wonderful world of gestational surrogacy. Posts dated 2013 and forward will trend heavily toward that journey. I don't promise everything I write will be about though. There might be other things that sneak in occasionally.
Please come along our journey with us. As the saying goes, "The more, the merrier!"
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