Smoke and Mirrors

In a perfect world . . .

Category: Easter


eggs, Easter, love, family, Easter Bunny, candy


Many years ago after Pamela and I got married, we began the creation of a family.
Sometimes it seems like yesterday, sometimes it seems like 100 years ago.
Perspective is such a fickle thing.
That I have been an absentee blogger has never been lost on my wife.
She said to me tonight, and quite casually I might add,
“When are you going to change the picture on your blog?
Write a post about the annual Easter Egg Hunt with the girls.”
I hate it when she’s right.
And I really hate to think she could be a better blogger than me.
If she blogged as well as she ‘Pinterest-ed’, she could put me to shame.
The reasons my blogging has slowed down to an incessant but slow drip is a post in and of itself,
for many varied reasons.
Tonight, though, I am here to talk about eggs.
Brightly coloured eggs.
Easter eggs.
Hard boiled eggs.
Egg salad sandwiches in a shell, yet to be born. [yum]

When our girls started walking we devised a plan for an Easter Egg Hunt to be held in the backyard on Easter morning.
We bought plastic pastel colored eggs that could be filled with all kinds of goodies, from candy and small toys (that nowadays are labeled as DANGEROUS! Your KID could CHOKE on THIS!) to dollar bills and matches.
(yeah, I’m kidding about the matches, calm down)
In New England, Easter morning could be rainy and cold so we needed to use something that would hold up to the elements.
It was the Easter Bunny’s job (namely, me) to hide the eggs in the backyard while the girls were sleeping.
When they woke in the morning to find an incredibly beautiful Easter Basket on their nightstand (compliments of Mr. & Mrs. Easter Bunny)
they were ready to don the appropriate clothes for the ‘going-to-get-mine-before-you-do’  Easter egg hunt.

Now it should be said that Mr. Bunny liked to have several Easter cocktails on the night before and while hiding the eggs wasn’t a problem, remembering where they were the next morning could sometimes be.
There are still eggs somewhere in our yard that I may never find.
I’m still looking for the elusive ‘Ben Franklin’ egg from years ago.
Can’t remember the exact year.
I’ve thought of using some power equipment to try and find it but the money I would spend doesn’t justify the means.
Right now, anyway.
Many years (and mornings after) would find the once loveable Mr. Easter Bunny reduced to the ‘Stupid-Easter-Bunny-that-doesn’t-know-how-to-hide-shit-we-can-easily-find’.
And, my moniker grows so damn lovingly.
I love it.

Fast forward to 2012 . . .

My girls have grown into young, beautiful and intelligent women and yet, I still have to hide eggs.
I am not a freekin’ Easter Bunny anymore, I am a grown 53 year old man.
I don’t have long and fuzzy ears or a cute little tail.
My ass is now flat.
I need three wallets to assimilate an ass bulge.
And I’m a crazy curmudgeon that thinks the world has gone insane.
Maybe I’m insane because I’ll still be out this Saturday night hiding eggs and loving it, rain or snow.
And on Easter morning I will still have no idea where the hell I put them . . .
In my heart, I’m hoping they keep the tradition going
because as silly as it was it’s a part of Pamela and me that will live on.
And maybe in the end, that’s what it’s all about . . .

A Happy Easter to all.


“The Gospels do not explain Easter, Easter explains the Gospels.”

-J.S. Whale (slightly adapted)

Nuff said . . .





I went to see the ‘Passion of the Christ’ on Palm Sunday of 2004.
I was alone because reviews of the film repulsed my wife and she wanted to simply stay away.
The theater was crowded that Sunday and I was surprised that I understood 99% of the movie although
it was all Aramaic subtitles.
From the beginning, I had goosebumps because the movie portrayed Christ as I thought of him.
The scene that bothered me most was the scourging. (this link is intensely disturbing)
The man sitting next to me was crying like a baby.
Just like me.
That one man endured and suffered all that he did FOR ME was almost humanly incomprehensible,
but in a positive way.
I believe in one man.
And I always will.
HE is.
I wish for you new beginnings, budding flowers, green grass and the best of health, maybe  a basil plant that grows faster than a night’s sleep for good measure.

Happy Easter to all and here’s to this thing we call life.
And hard boiled eggs.


Just like Chaplin

Some thoughts from many years ago (2006)
Seems like yesterday . . .

We had my father over for Easter dinner on Sunday.
My sister wanted to pick him up and bring him over; something I believe she had to do.
I think she fears there won’t be many more left to share.
Sadly, I would have to agree.
Actually, I would have agreed over a year ago.
I have to give her credit for going through the rigmarole of getting him ready,
seated safely in the car and bringing him over to our house.
I’ve been there, done that and bought the t-shirt.

My father has a difficult time walking these days reminding me more of Charlie Chaplin than the man I once called “Dad”.
It’s an unfortunate physical side effect of a brain at war with total neurological disintegration.
We eventually got him into my living room and plopped him down in my favorite chair:
one, because the chair is just so damn comfortable
and two, because when we finally let him go, it would be impossible for him to miss it.

We all sat down to eat and my sister and I filled his plate with ham,
green beans and Au gratin potatoes, all of which we cut up into pieces to make it easier for him to feed himself.
And feed himself he did.
He ate everything on the plate.
Either my cooking was really good that day or where he’s currently staying is really bad.
Whatever the case, it was wonderful to see him enjoy a meal.
He didn’t speak a word as he ate.

My wife caught him stabbing at an empty spot on his plate.
She gently rotated his plate to where the food was and he was none the wiser.
Mission Accomplished.

The rest of the afternoon went off without a hitch.

After eating, we ushered him back to my chair where he fell asleep; perhaps shuffling through his own little world of monochromatic movie screens and silent dreams . . .  a sleeping Charlie Chaplin.

We woke him an hour or so later and got him back into the car.
As I fastened his seat belt, I looked at him as he peered over the rims of his glasses and I said,
“No Boston Marathon for you tomorrow, young man.”

I’m sure he didn’t understand a word I said but knew enough to do a little chuckle and mutter, “Yeah”.

He plays the game so well most days so why the hell can’t I?

For me, the Easter cupboard was somewhat threadbare in terms of holiday revelations
and personal epiphanies but I did get to marvel over the way my Dad still gets through his days.
In many ways, he’s graceful in a way I may never be.
As long as his surreal movie keeps playing,
I’ll continue to watch him as he shuffles through his seemingly silent and black and white world,
just like Chaplin.


I’m Thinking

*Am I the only one that finds it mildly ironic that Ted “Chappaquiddick” Kennedy
gave the Obama’s a Portuguese Water Dog?
Kennedy supposedly owns three.
Where were they when he needed them?

*Here in the US of A we give free needles to junkies and
charge diabetes patients up the wazoo for the same damn needles.
Someone pinch me.
I must be dreaming.

*In Massachusetts, I saw a headline today that read –
Study: Tobacco funds not curbing smoking

Turns out that only $13.5 million of the annual $700 million the Baystate receives
was used for smoking cessation programs.
Well, yank my doodle, it’s a dandy.
You gotta be kidding me.
Where’s Nancy ‘MadDog’ Lugosi?

I mean Pelosi.
She’s gotta have a hand in this somehow.
What an ugly woman, inside and out.
And those choppers . . .
Nancy needs to be promoted to ‘Subterranean Truffle Inspector’ tomorrow.

*The groundbreaking and intellectually provocative Hannah Montana movie hit theaters over the Easter weekend grossing over 34 million dollars.
For your entertainment ‘bang for the buck’ wouldn’t staying home watching the grass grow be a bit more stimulating?
It’s probably me . . .

*Tiger Woods lost in the final round of the Masters yesterday due to a pair of late bogies.
Why does this not make me feel bad?
I must be a rotten human being.

*And lastly, I thought Gmail’s *new feature ‘Auto-Pilot’ sounded really cool.
But it was only available on April Fool’s Day. {sigh}

Just my mind at play folks . . .

Bloody Gorgeous

It’s no surprise to anyone that visits me that I really like changing my themes.
Dare I say I change it more than some folks change their socks or underwear.
Some folks would even say I have some serious theme ‘issues’.
I plead guilty.
In my lifelong search for the perfect theme I came upon one called ‘ThemeLog’ that spoke to me
and said quite simply, “This is so you, Michael.”
You’re looking at it right now.
Flash header and all.
And yeah, I love it.
I happened to mention this to Moe (my angel from Oz) several weeks ago during one of our weekly chats.
She agreed saying it was “bloody gorgeous” and that it fit in perfectly with the overall feel of my blog.
Fast forward to last Saturday night when I checked my email before heading up to bed.
There was an email in my Inbox from NattyWP, a premium WordPress theme site.
It was a ‘Welcome to Natty’ email thanking me for joining.
Maybe one too many Guinness, I thought.
I clicked on the link in the email and entered the login info provided and there it was . . .  the zip file for ‘ThemeLog’.
I immediately knew who was responsible.
It was the only person that knew how much this theme owned me.
We ultimately needed a bit of help getting it up and running which Moe was to so thanks are in order to Dave from NattyWP.
He had this sucker whistling Dixie in less than 2 hours.
After a bit more fiddling (and numerous emails) here we are.
And here I am.
A few more tweaks will be made but know that to comment you must click on the post title.
Most folks have already figured it out but I thought I’d let you know anyway.
My deepest thanks to Moe for caring too much sometimes.
That’s just her way, I guess.
God only knows, I need it these days.
You are a peach, my dear.
Smith is already thinking about doing a “How long will Murphy keep this theme up?” contest.
Any guesses?
I’m thinking he’s definitely going to lose.
Time will tell, I guess . . .
Really, how bloody gorgeous is this theme?    Cool

Klaus Nomi (gotta love the bowtie)

I checked my “search stats” today and one caught my eye:

‘beer or smoke – which one is worse for you’

Hmmm . . .
I’d have to say neither.
What’s way worse is too much Klaus Nomi . . .
Too much Nomi will eventually fry your brain.
It’s Charlie Chaplin meets Gary Numan
And then some . . .
Yoiks. (or Yolks)
Happy Easter, folks.
No happy and snappy eggs for you. Sorry.
Hopefully, I’ll see you all back here next week.

peace, out . . .



Happy Easter. . .


Nasty Bunny


Top Ten Signs Your Easter Bunny is losing his MoJo

  1. Shows up wearing the costume head and nothing else.
  2. Reeks of tequila and Easter egg dye.
  3. Immediately asks if he can have Easter off.
  4. Refuses to hop because it aggravates his double hernia.
  5. For an extra 20 bucks, parents can buy an ounce of his special “Easter grass”.
  6. Only gives the kids candy after they attend his presentation on the time-share condos.
  7. Keeps muttering something about “infidels” and “jihad”.
  8. Costume is made from animal skin he scraped off the interstate.
  9. Habitually licks and grooms himself.
  10. The enormous ears? Steroids.

Wanted to wish everyone a Happy Easter.
You are all in my prayers, whether you celebrate Easter or not…
See you all next week.
And I love hard-boiled eggs.
Oui, je suis tres content. (Hannah’s Genious Here)
I’m outta here!
Gotta hide some ovals . . .


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