Ah, springtime in the Rockies! Which means, actually, mild winter in the Rockies.
We begin the annual attempt at gardening indoors, as you must.
Palm Sunday is just the best occasion for discussion and fun...and, as we do every year, we recreated Holy Week as far as our weak abilities allowed. The kids always ask: Why don't we celebrate Palm Sunday, or anything about Holy Week, at church? And I never have an answer for them. That's not a criticism or complaint, mind you, just an honest query.
The Savior and his donkey, incognito.
On Tuesday we discussed the parable of the Ten Virgins: no play this year, but they did get to create these handy-dandy lamps...every Easter I swear to myself that NEXT year, I'll bring out the serious clay and let them create real, light-bearing lamps. How long can one lie to oneself?
The gals with the Big Bun at Park Meadows...Tagawa nursery creates this fabulous springtime fantasyscape for our enjoyment: even as Denver blossoms, we, at 1,000 feet higher elevation, still yearn for the buds of spring.
Egg-deocrating. The eleventh hour, Saturday night. The local egg hunts were missed by one week, or cancelled, so, well...
nicely done.
Our 2011 Sunday mornings have been less than satisfactory...we switched to the 8 a.m. block due to a ward split, and we've never recovered. Even on this blessed holiday, on which we were due in the Park Meadows ward to hear cousin Collin speak upon returning from his mission to Puebla, Mexico, at the late hour of 9 a.m., we were granted no time reprieve, due to time allotted for travel. So this, my friends, is the Easter Sunday morning leeched of all joy. It can't be helped.
Once you get 'em dressed, however, you can usually coax 5 seconds of merriment.
Collin gave the most wonderful talk...and though it hadn't occurred to me before the speakers began, we couldn't, if we had had a catalog of potential Sacrament meeting programs before us, have picked better Sunday to bring the Kulwicki twins to their first-ever church experience: If a man die, will he live again? How ecstatic were we that we could bring these boys to sit with a group of people who can testify that everyone, indeed, will live again? That they will see their father again, that they will talk with and love with him again? With all the cultural trappings in which Latter-day Saints consistently immerse ourselves, this is the core, what those boys heard this Easter Sunday: 'He is not here, he is risen.'
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