More Easter Scenes

Believe it or not, this is something called a Resurrection Roll.

You bake it with a marshmallow inside - the marshmallow melts and hey presto, it's empty. Therefore it symbolises Christ's empty tomb.

And in an old downtown church, a rather more aesthetic - and beautifully fragrant - empty tomb display...

Happy Easter

From a Western New York bunny.

An Egghunt in the Park

  Well not so much a hunt as a mad free-for-all scramble after 1500 coloured plastic eggs stuffed with jelly beans scattered in plain view over the park. It was over in two minutes. Talk about survival of the fittest. As an observer, I felt it could have done with a little finessing and the young family members I was escorting pronounced it, with airs of authority, "boring". Perhaps it would help actually to hide the eggs and make it more of a challenge but that might have been considered a little politically incorrect.

Ohio Good Friday

Dateline Columbus, Ohio

Looking for a coffee in the shopping Mall near where we were staying, I espied a lengthy queue of mothers and children. "I hope", I muttered to myself, "they're not all queueing for coffee.  

Scrutinising them a little more closely, I realised that they were not. They were queuing for something else, namely....

Who was posing for photographs, presumably for a small fee. I think this was Mrs Bunny,

possibly on the same lines as  Mrs Claus 

   The children were all dolled up like the Painted Babies, in frilly tutus, pastel party dresses, fairy wings, net and sequins and even the babies had elaborate glittery hairbands. Call me old-fashioned but it was a rather surreal sight for Good Friday.

Elsewhere, also perhaps surprisingly, rather more people - possibly a couple of thousand - queued up to kiss the Cross at the Good Friday liturgy at St Patrick's Church and the neo-Gothic Cathedral (below) held a rather splendid night-time "Tenebrae" service with fabulous Gregorian Chant and the "Miserere" by Allegri, hitting such spectacularly high notes that I almost got vertigo. As the last candle was extinguished and the Cathedral plunged into spooky darkness, everyone in the packed building was told to bang their fists on the pews to symbolise the earthquake at the death of Christ. The kids with us simply loved it.   Yup, America is a land of contrasts....

Great American Mysteries

There are many. The one taxing me at the moment is why people in Ohio drive on the left. Before you get too alarmed, I mean that they drive in the left lane of the motorway, even if they are going fairly slowly. Of course this can happen everywhere but it seems especially prevalent in Ohio. You can be driving along through Pennsylvania and suddenly see a slow driver in the fast lane. "What does that chap think he is about?" you might muse to yourself. But then you have a eureka moment. You realise that you passed the state line a few minutes ago. "Ah, I see, I am now in Ohio!" you exclaim. This leftish habit means a lot of irate out-of-state drivers getting stuck behind the miscreants. People from Ohio, who know the form, just pass on the inside. Coming from Britain, seeing people driving on the left does make me feel at home but it's also a puzzle to which I would like to find the answer. As we are currently visiting family in Ohio, I will do my best to get one.

Dawn Over Chapel Hill

It's all go here - we're off to Ohio for Easter where it promises to be just a few degrees warmer - well every little helps....

Meanwhile, there is beauty in Western New York in the snow - beauty of all sorts, like this...

And this, the sun coming up over Chapel Hill, our local highest point and one which we have to negotiate every time we drive to Buffalo. It's a frequent topic of winter conversation, as in  "D'you think the car'll make it over Chapel Hill?"  If it's not a four wheel drive and they've been remiss in gritting the road, it most probably won't. I speak from experience.   Another topic of conversation is exactly how Chapel Hill should be pronounced. We and Samantha, the SatNav robot, call it Chapel. Longstanding locals call it Chay-pel. Perhaps someone of that name lived there.

Though, on the other side, there is indeed a chapel - or a small church, one of the prettiest in the county and its oldest Catholic place of worship. St Pacificus was sadly closed a few years ago despite a thriving congregation. I used to see the Franciscan priest, Father Greg, energetically shovelling snow off the steps before Sunday Mass in his long, brown habit. A great outdoorsman and volunteer fireman, big-hearted and beloved by many, he was a man in a million. Sadly, he lost his life in a boating accident at a nearby reservoir a few years ago.  The local fire brigade turned out for his funeral resplendent in dress uniform and white gloves and carried him to his rest on a vintage fire engine.   He is still sorely missed.

I've been told that the church can't be sold because it stands in a cemetery. Occasional services are still held there and people keep it looking good, perhaps in the hope that it might open again one day.

Bird Feeder Cabaret: Chickadee Angels

 



Courtesy of guest paparazzo Tom.

 

They are so cheeky, so ubiquitous, that I forget just how beautiful they are,