Snack Time

I feel like I'm still recovering from yesterday. It got cold again today, and the wind returned. The crest point (or whatever it's called) for the river, which is supposed to happen tomorrow, is now supposed to be lower than the record by a good two feet. We didn't get as much rain as they predicted, I guess; at least not as constantly as it was looking. We did get some snow today. Well, a freezing mixture.

I worked a couple hours this morning/afternoon, and then Mom and I were out and about. And round-about, due to closed roads. We were hunting for a place to buy bulk chick feed.

And yes. I'm going to talk about the chicks again.

Man, I need to take some pictures! Presley, one of the Polish, has a mop head right now. The oldest keep perching on everything possible. Mom built them a better coop. Now they're on the floor, in the open. They have staring contests with Sasha when she comes through headed for the back door. They're mostly friendly, crowding around when someone talks to them. ('Cept for Glinda and Galadriel. Stuck up snobs, those two.)

The ducks are another story. They're nervous and loud and easily agitated. They only respond in a relatively calm manner to Heather, and I think it's more of grudging acceptance. Unless by some strange quirk of nature they prefer the loud mimic-squawking and purposefully off-key singing.

I've been trying to coax them out of their constant state of nerves, but most days I don't have the patience for it. I've already tried giving them chopped apples once, Heather having read they like chopped fruits and veggies, but they cowered in a corner. Today I tried again.

I spent a little time petting them. They shivered like chihuahuas, but they didn't run circles in blind panic. Then I got some apples.

Neither responded to me. You'd think I was some wicked abuser back to torment them. I held the apples as close as I could manage, but they kept pulling their heads back like it was poison. And then one of them got a whiff of the treat.
The next thing I know, a little duck bill and pecking at my hand, and then the duckling's whole head is vibrating as it - gummed? - the snack into mush and swallowed. And it repeated the action over and over. It still wouldn't pull its body out of the corner. If I held my hand just out of reach, it wouldn't move. And the second duckling was still refusing to accept my offering.
Meanwhile I'm about to collapse in a fit of giggles because the way the duckling was eating was so cute and funny. I finally managed to coax the second to get a bite, but he wasn't as enthusiastic.
Now I know why ducks are often portrayed as, well, feather-brained.
Well, the chicks are all tucking in for bedtime and the brownies are cooling, so I'm off.

Rainy Day

I think nearly everyone has those days where all they want to do is sit inside, out of the weather, and worry about nothing but being comfortable. Today was one of those days for me. I'm not even out of my pajamas. Contrary to popular belief and stereotypes, that really isn't normal for me.

We're in the middle of rain and thunderstorms 'round here. Prediction: historic, possibly record-breaking flooding. Perhaps if we lived in town, near the flood plain, I'd believe it. Out here, we're still just a little damp. Good thing, too, because on of my rain boots has a leak.

So today is my day off. I'm not even babysitting tonight on account of the weather. Last night I stayed up late watching Avengers with part of the family, determined to relax for a little today (as if my job is so stressful and life is too tough to deal with). Rainy days stuck at home mean cups of tea, good books, fuzzy blankets, sad music, and/or the like. I'm out of good books at the moment and didn't think of tea until afterward. I curled up in the living room under Mom's amazing sweatshirt blanket (it's literally a big blanket made out of fuzzy sweatshirt material) and turned on Netflix. Commence a couple hours of mindless entertainment. And fighting with Hershey to keep him off the couch. It rained off and on. Sasha had a showdown with the thunder. (I'm trying to decide if she'd make a good guard dog or a bad one.) All in all, a dreary, gray day. Thankfully it's warmer than before and not so windy.

Yes, I feel guilty about it now. I did tend to the dogs and keep an eye on the poultry, but that's as far as my productivity went. The dishes sat waiting, the floor needed vaccuming, and I know I could had put at least an hour to use trying to write or edit or something. Even reading would have been better. But I didn't care. I watched an episode of White Collar, an episode of that Canadian show about the fictional emergency response unit, some BBC movie, and more junk. Now Mom and the girls are home from co-op and it's time to return to the real world. Sigh.

Or maybe not. Mom came home with junk food. And guacamole. Back to the couch I go!

Guys. I only have five paragraphs. What's with that?

Oh, well. Day Three! And Mom picked a cheesy movie.

Happy Medium

Okay, guys. What do you call a psychic midget on the run? You ready? A short medium at large.

It's a real knee-slapper, I know. And no, it is not an original. I got it from a co-worker. I don't think I've ever actually made my own joke. I prefer to enjoy a cleverly crafted piece of humor. Or point out the daily humor I come across in real life. Like when... Actually, no. I won't share that story.

But I digress! And that joke at the beginning is actually related to today's post. And this post is also inspired by...my shower. *cringe*

Typically, my shower is when my brain activity reaches its high for the day. My concious brain activity, that is. I like hot showers. Well, in colder weather. Come summer, I still like the water to be warm, while everyone else is bathing in Lake Superior temperatures. Though they say* hot showers aren't really good for you. (Don't quote me. It might just be me saying that, though I seem to recall reading an article about it which someone shared on facebook or something.)

Gah! Stay on target! So I like hot showers. But my body does have a maximum temperature tolerance. And usually, I start the water off too hot, and then knock it to the cold side, and back and forth we go, and the odds aren't good it'll settle happily in the middle. And I grumble about the shower having no happy medium setting. (Same goes with the volume in most cars. You get indistinct or you get too-loud-for-conversation.)

I first picked up on the whole "happy medium" idea from A Wrinkle in Time. I actually saw the movie before I ever read the book. I think it's because I saw the movie that I was disinclined to read the book for quite a while afterward. (It stinks. Admit it. The twins are rude and demeaning, Charles Wallace is spoiled, Meg is angsty, and her dad has little redeeming qualities. And Calvin? Ugh.) Throughout the book, Meg's family is telling her she needs to find her happy medium. And then, of course, they do find the Happy Medium. (And at that time, the true meaning of "medium" in this context eluded me. I had some vague idea that the Happy Medium was some sort of manifestation of Meg's good side. Don't ask. I think that was about the time I was also introduced to Ted Dekker's Three.)

As described in the little chapter synopsis I linked up there, Meg is encouraged to find a happy medium because she tends to swing from one extreme to the other. Maybe that's why I relate to her so well. And then I got glasses and developed the habit of shoving them up my nose absentmindedly, and our similarities grew, and I was happy.

Clearly, I need a little mediocrity in my blogging, because this is all over the place.

Oh! Mediocrity. That was part of my next point.

In a past post, I mentioned a sermon Pastor preached out of Philippians 4:5-7, the key being in verse 5:

 

Let your moderation be known unto all men. The Lord is at hand.

Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.

And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.

Pastor talked about how we needed to be sure we are grounded, especially emotionally, in our lives, not dropping in despair one minute and leaping with abandon the next; not so easily tossed about. Today, the word "mediocrity" has the idea of boring or second-rate, but in fact it's what we need to strive for in our lives. We can be calm and secure because God is always at our side and the troubles we face will pass, even though they seem insurmountable now. Where the world is stumbling back and forth, reeling from disaster and the reveling in their little victories, we are unshaken, because we have our eyes on what will truly last, and what will matter, and the rest doesn't upset us.

Not to say we're supposed to be unfeeling, unresponsive robots. We're still human. The point is that, no matter what happens, we know Who is in control, and we can rest in that knowledge. Other people will mark how we stay strong in the storms of life when they're clinging to their man-made lifelines.**

Yes. I got all of that from issues with water temperature during my shower.

 

 

*One day I'm going to write a book about this "they". Or maybe just a short story. And perhaps I'll title it "You Know What They Say".

** Why am I always referencing ships and the ocean? I don't even really like the ocean.

Little Wonders

A while ago a friend of the family had a blog where she wrote about one magical moment she found in every day. She kept it going for over two years, I believe. When I was a younger blogger over one homsechoolblogger.com, I followed some girls who took challenges to blog every day for a week, a month, or the like. That's a true challenge in every sense of the word for noncommital me.   :)

I've seen little "magical moments" all over the place lately and thought to myself, "That'd be great to blog about". Maybe it'd break from my self-enforced style of long posts, but aren't more, shorter posts better than infrequent long ones? (Especially when most of the length is recapping.) It may not look like it from where you're sitting, but my life is actually very colorful and I find blogging material every day. I just lack incentive. Probably a month ago I drove past an elementary school on my way to work and saw a group of girls posing with a police officer in front of his car; on one of the rare nice (though cloudy) days this month, I saw people flying kites at Overlook Park (which really isn't as picturesque as it sounds); though I vowed not to write about work, sometimes I catch a cute moment I just have to share, like when the boy came in with a hand-written note and said he'd be back later with his girlfriend and could we put the note on her cup? (I have this irrational fear of the people I blog about actually stumbling across my blog and going, "Hey, that's me!", which is part of the reason I don't blog about work much.)

So why not? What could it hurt to try? A post a day, for as long as I wish or can manage, about the ordinary things I'd be otherwise inclined to forget. I don't know about you, but I found my blog rather boring and greatly lacking in proving how much of a tapestry my life can be like.

Here's today's:

As anyone who lives around here knows, we've been having some flooding. I mentioned before that the main (or most direct, at least) road into town was flooded for a few days. It opened yesterday (though, according to the weekly forecast more rain is bound to close it again soon) so we've gone back to using it. However, the areas all around the road are still under significant water.

Riding home on the bus today, I was trying to amuse myself with the passing scenery. We drove past one of the lowest points along the road. On either side, the land had turned into a scattering of ponds, with portions of sidewalks, sturdy trees, and fences lost in their midst. In one temporary pond, I saw a solitary swan. There weren't any other birds on the water; the geese are gone and the sea gulls are in hiding. Just one swan, floating along and occasionally dipping his head under the water.

Swans have interested me more and more. I think it started back on a camping trip when I noticed for the first time the funny sounds they make. Mom was trying to photograph two of them on a pond. Something startled them and they were across the water, honking gruffly and flapping like mad. For a bird depicted as such a graceful creature, swans can be downright awkward when it comes to take-off from the water.

And then, a while ago, Dad somehow got on the topic of the swan song, something I'd either never heard about or didn't remember hearing about before. It's one of those sentimental or sadly romantic kind of things which tend to pique my interest.

I found a book a couple years ago, The Goose Girl by Shannon Hale, based on the classic Goose Girl fairytale. The fairytale itself has always sort of creeped me out. I mean, come on: the princess's servant betrays her on the way to the princess's wedding and the princess is weak enough to be cowed into going through with an identity switch, and then her horse is beheaded and his head hung over the goose pasture gate where she is sent to work, and it talks to her about how her mother's heart would be broken if she knew her daughter's fate. Where did people come up with these stories? (It is a Grimm fairytale.) Shannon Hale's retelling (and I have such a weakness for fairytale retellings) is easier to enjoy. The princess can talk to animals - mostly birds - and has a great love for swans.

So yes! All that prompted by one short glimpse of a white bird in a puddle. Am I the only one whose mental train can switch across so many tracks so quickly?

On a side note: I had a thought today, while pondering how to get back to blogging, that it might be funny to try and record my train of thoughts throughout the day. I quickly dismissed that notion; how embarassing!

There! Day One down. Let's see how long this lasts.

Also: the title of this post was inspired by this song (start at 20 seconds), which plays at the end of Meet the Robinsons. It makes me happy.

Springtime, true to form

So, I sat down to blog today after my inexcusable absence and discovered a short draft of a post I'd started a week ago and completely forgotten about. Right. So here's that:

Jessi informed me yesterday that you cannot have a dream involving people you've never seen before. I have to wonder how that works for writers, because we often vividly imagine fake people.

Any way, I'm still trying to decide how I feel about that fact, because what brought it up was me telling her about my dream Sunday night.

As you may have guessed, it was another wedding dream.

This was has just cause. One of my cousins got married on Saturday.

My groom had a face! I just can't remember it. I do remember the hair color, which has been pretty consistent. But the ceremony wasn't even a key part of the dream. Nope. We got stuck in the Canadian wilderness in a blizzard. Go figure.

And on with more recent junk!

We've been getting a literal flood of true spring weather. The main road we take into town has been closed the last few days and we've all had to adjust our routes. Irritating, to say the least. However, I haven't even had to worry about driving lately, because.... I've been taking the bus.

Yes. This lovely city of ours has a bus system. (Actually, I have to use the county bus system because of where we live.) No one in the family really even acknowleged the fact until last week when Wes's van went ka-poot and suddenly I had no way of getting to work. Until my boss reminded me of the bus, which a co-worker uses.

Mom grabbed the idea like it was a life line and she in a hurricane.

I about had a nervous breakdown. It was pitiful and childish. I am ashamed.

In short, I've had...eight bus rides now! Yay me. On the first one, I actually sat with notebook in had and scribbled out every random thought, intending to turn it into this long blog post. Obviously, that didn't happen, and I am so glad! In short, I toughened up and managed to get through, though inside I felt like a piece of Jell-O at the mercy of a fork-weilding toddler. By God's grace (and yes, I mean that) the driver of my first-ever bus ride was super nice. Awesome, really. As was the old man who drove me home. (And I've never had the same driver twice, as yet.) The old man could be a tour guide with how much he knew about my neighbors. (Not that our stretch of road is really worthy of touring.)

So yes. That's about the only exciting thing. The chicks and ducks are growing (and, in the chicks' case, growing ugly). I kind of neglected them for a few days, being so busy with work and life in general, and when I returned the ducklings were about twice their former size and more obnoxious than ever. And I discovered it was pointless to name the  Buffs. I can't tell them apart at the moment. Sigh. Lobelia was getting to be so adorable in a chicken sort of way, too. She had this habit of hopping onto people's hands and trying to climb up their arms. She might be the chick who keeps flying up and perching precariously on the edge of the box. Regular daredevil, that one.

Um....

Well, crazy weather, bus rides, growing poultry, weird dreams. I can't think of anything else. It's been a rather unremarkable April. Some people will contest this, saying the weather is horrible, but hello! It's spring. Despite the name, it isn't all skipping through a field of flowers under a clear blue sky with a warm breeze blowing along. It's wet. And sometimes cold. And windy. And muddy. And we need it. Remember last year?

<end rant>

Man. I thought there was something else blog-worthy I wanted to write about, but I can't think of what it was. Guess I end here for the day.

Oh! I'm considering a sort of challenge to myself to post everyday. Not forever, obviously. Maybe a week at first, to see if I can do it. We shall see.

The Glory of the Cross

Note: I started writing this post a couple weeks ago. My days had been mixed up and I was thinking it was the Wednesday between Palm Sunday and Easter, when in reality it was the Wesneday before Palm Sunday. So I set it aside and promised to post it at the appropriate time. And then I forgot and blogged about chickens instead.
I came back to it today, wanting to finish my "Easter post". Due to the time difference from when I originally wrote it until now, I thought some of it might have to be adjusted. I only changed a couple tenses, so I'm sorry if it reads a little out of whack. And then I added more today. Not that this is really important to most of you.  :)  I just wanted to apologize if my thoughts seem all over the place...or moreso than usual.

From last week

For me, it's always been easier to relate to historical events, to really grasp them and appreciate them, when I can think, "So many years ago today this or that happened." (Perhaps that's why half of history class is all about the dates of events?) History can begin to feel like any other story if we're just told, "This happened."

I always love watching Preacher craft a timeline. It helps to put things into perspective, even if it isn't to scale (because it never is). And you know what happened this week, 2,000+ years ago.

Christ's last week on earth. For the time being.

He'd had His last supper. He'd prayed in the garden. He'd been taken prisoner, tried and declared guilty, beaten and mocked. And then He headed for a death on a cross, to be executed. Not for Himself, the perfect God Incarnate, but for the very creation that scorned and hated and spit on Him; we who reject and deny and curse His name.

Crucifixion was one of the worst and most disgraceful forms of execution. And Christ submitted Himself to it for us.

In my last post (or the one before that) I mentioned a recent Sunday morning sermon. The text was Mark 9:1-9, Matt 17:1-9, and Luke 9:27. (Yes, the account of the Mount of Transfiguration.) The subject: the glory of Christ's cross.

Glory (dictionary.com):

2. Something that is a source of honor, fame, or admiration; a distinguished ornament or an object of pride.

4. Resplendent beauty or magnificence.

No one before the cross saw it as in any way glorious. They didn't get it (Matt. 16:21, Mark 8:31). Those who followed Christ believed His glory would be in conquering Rome and ruling as King. Only a few days before, they were singing in the streets, looking for God to save them. But today we call the day of His death "good". It certainly wasn't good for Him. The mockery, the abjection, and ultimately the giving of His life after hours hanging in agony on a tree. But it represents hope and grace and love poured out for us.

On the Mount of Transfiguration, Christ prays and then talks with Moses and Elijah. They don't discuss His victory and reign. They discuss His approaching death.

They discuss "his decease which he should accomplish at Jerusalem." (Luke 9:31)

Accomplish.

The word connotes, at least nowadays, the achievement of something good, praiseworthy, and proud. People boast about winning a race, completing college, or getting their driver's license. Who considers brutal execution while being publicly humiliated to be their greatest achievement? Not only that, but it is human nature to try to maintain life for as long as possible.

Accomplish:

1. To bring to its goal or conclusion; to carry out; perform; finish.

When Christ declared "It is finished" and surrendered Himself to death, Satan saw it as his greatest accomplishment. He'd killed God! He'd prevented God from saving the world. The human race had rejected Him, tortured Him, and killed Him.

The angels didn't understand it. Why was the Creator doing this for people who didn't even care? Why didn't He call them to lift Him from that cross and wipe out His wicked creation?

Christ's disciples, His earthly family, those who followed Him and looked to Him as their Messiah, didn't get it. Why did it end this way? How could it? Where was their kingdom, their glory, with Him on the throne? When they saw Him raised on that cross, I believe their hearts were sinking. The weight of their sorrow, their hopelessness, made it difficult to breathe. They felt lost when the body of their Savior was laid in a tomb. What now?

The Devil certainly didn't get it. I wonder if he thought it was too easy? If it even crossed his mind.

Three days later, he had to be saying that.

Christ didn't just die. That's only the beginning of the story. No rock in front of a borrowed tomb could hold Him; no soldiers could stop Him; death couldn't keep Him. He claimed the keys of Death itself. His life was the ransom, His perfect blood the great price none of us could ever achieve.

That's the glory of the cross. That's the great accomplishment of God, even though people still can't understand. That's love, the likes of which no temporal thing in this finite world could ever hope to mimic. The Devil tries, but all his copies are like the crayon scribblings of an infant compared to the Mona Lisa. Not only crude and short of any kind of imitation, but also worthless.

A couple thousand years ago, as they watched their king, their Messiah, their friend, the Son of God, struggle under the weight of the ugly wooden cross, torn and bleeding and scorned on all sides, they didn't understand. Their hope seemed to die with Jesus, and then it was buried in a cold, sunless tomb. They didn't see the whole picture.

We have the whole picture. We see the pain and the hatred and the blood, we see the tomb and darkness. But we also see the victory! That's the glory of the cross! That's what we claim, what we hope in. “It is finished” is our victory cry.

 

Today

I’m subbing the teaching part of our Wednesday night class tomorrow. Dad gave me the verse a couple weeks ago so I could prepare. (He tends to fly by the seat of his pants when he teaches, which works for him, but I like notes.) I’ve slowly been adding thoughts and comparison verses to it since then. I don’t know how I’ll get to hit on all the points during class, but I wanted to share the gist of it here.

The verse is John 15:13, a supporting verse for Romans 5:1, which the kids memorized while working on the Romans Road a while ago.

Therefore being justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. – Romans 5:1 

Greater love hath no man than this, than a man lay down his life for his friends. – John 15:13

Whenever Dad starts to work with the kids on memorizing a verse, he has them point out words they don’t know. Then he breaks down the verse so they understand the meaning of what they’re memorizing, not just the words.

I’m sure the kids will understand what all of those words mean, but I went through the dictionary and got definitions anyway. (Do you have any idea how hard it is to determine which form of “that” is being used? There are a good dozen or more forms listed in the dictionary.) While I was working on that, a few words/phrases stuck out to me; namely, “lay down”.

What’s cool is that Pastor’s sermon Easter Sunday tied in with this really well and gave me some extra material. I love it when that happens.

To lay down one’s life is a sacrifice, usually for the sake of a loved one.

 

Peter said unto him, Lord, why cannot I follow thee now? I will lay down my life for thy sake. - John 13:37

Hereby perceive we the love of God, because he laid down his life for us: and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren. - I John 3:16

Christ wasn’t forced onto that cross. He wasn’t beaten into such a state that he couldn’t resist. He didn’t “surrender his life” or “give up his life” as if there had been a struggle and He was finally relinquishing control. He laid it down. No fight; no resistance.

Therefore doth my Father love me, because I lay down my life, that I might take it again. No man taketh it from me, but I lay it down of myself. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it again. This commandment have I received of my Father. - John 10:17&18

Usually the king’s life is more important than anyone else’s. People give their lives for the king, promise to protect the king with their lives, pay any ransom for the king. But this King gave His own life for our ransom, and we didn’t even care about Him. The glory of the cross is that the King of creation laid down His life for the sake of people who didn't even acknowledge Who He was, who were so lost in their sinful darkness that they couldn't understand this Light that burst in. He reached down and paved a path out of the darkness, the stones His love and the mortar His blood; a road that starts at the foot of His cross. Our cross.

April Fool!

I've never been one for April Fool pranks. Or any other pranks or practical jokes, for that matter. I always feel kind of guilty for making other people freak out and then laughing at them, and I can't say I really enjoy being laughed at most of the time. I think the worst prank I ever did was refold an empty gum wrapper, stick it in the pack, and offer it to someone. (I know. Homeschoolers. I can't tell you how much pleasure my 7-year-old self derived from that "trick".)

Today I saw people on facebook posting about April Fools Day pranks, but wasn't really worried to be the recipient of any. I spent my day in innocent bliss: washing dishes, playing with the chickens (oh, we got four more....), giving Sasha a shower, and pining for sunshine.

Around 4:00, I remembered that I'd been meaning to check my library account because I had some books coming due. I got on and saw that I had quite a few actually overdue. Snap. Since I had to be to work in an hour, I figured I'd better get moving so I could drop the books off at the library.

As I was cramming things into my purse (I really need a better catch-all purse), my phone rang. Work. Now what?

When I answered, one of my co-oworkers asked if I was almost there. Not understanding at first, I asked her to repeat the question.

"Um, no. I'm not in until 5:00."

"No. You're scheduled for 4:00."

Cue panic attack. Psychological pranks are possibly my least favorite. So I'm freaking out, Mom is freaking out, and I somehow end up on the floor. Then my co-worker starts laughing, and I hear more laughter in the background. (Yes, she had it on speaker.) Through the laughter, she choked out, "April Fools!" I proceeded to huff about what a brat she was. And then I chuckled and hung up. Right.

I left soon after, and my run to the library didn't take as long as I thought, so I ended up getting to work early anyway. And for the rest of the night, we were all on edge. I really hate this "holiday".

In other news, we got four more chicks a couple days ago. Mom, Heather, and I set out for an hour-long drive to a hatchery with the intention of getting the much-desired Silkies. Unfortunately, there'd been some miscommunication somewhere along the line; the Silkies were all gone. Turns out they're in high demand this year. A little disappointment on Heather's part, and then we got three Polish chickens and a Brahma. They could be either hens or roosters, but they already have names. The Brahma, Heather's concilatory/Easter gift, is named Ginger. And she (though it may be a "he") knows she's exotic. And she has some attitude. On the other hand, the Polish chickens are pretty quiet and easy-going, so they get picked on (quite literally) by the others. They are Elvis, Presley, and Aida or Aidan. (Yes, Elvis and Presley. I tried to convince Mom that if the one she dubbed "Elvis" turned out to be a hen, she could call it "Presley" because it sounds more like a unisex name, but the next day one of the others was Presley.)

We're getting quite the collection. 23 chickens and 2 ducks. The oldest ones are starting to hit the "dinosaur stage", where they lose their baby fluff and start getting their adult feathers. When we went to get the last four chickens, we saw some ducks in this stage, and they were, quite frankly, ugly. As Mom put it, they looked rather like they had mange: fluff half-gone and feathers poking out all over the place.

I'm starting to think it was a bad idea naming the chickens; at least the Buffs. They're becoming kind of hard to distinguish from one another. Lobelia is still the lightest of the older set. I just keep an eye on her so I know which one she is. It helps that she's the most daring. She likes sitting on people's hands and arms. Mostly, she's trying to escape (and she can get some good air when she flaps her wings) but in that regard she's nicer than the rest.

Anyone getting bored yet? I know it's short, but I think I'll end here for the day. I'm still working on my Easter post. Maybe tomorrow....