he is risen

This is the phrase I always think of at Easter, the phrase my mother always dyed on her eggs. I always made elaborate puzzle ones, ones that looked like dawn, trying to outdo my artist father. I didn't dye eggs this year, or do very much Eastery. It snowed, big papery flakes. I sent out some submissions, trying to get back into the writing game after a year of being more of a scholar than anything else. But tonight Vanessa and I went ahead and made an Easter meal. Orange roughy, asparagus and the requisite lambcake. Anyone who's ever Eastered with me knows the wonders of the lambcake. I took some pictures for your touristic or nostalgic delight, depending on what side of the line you fall. I'm wishing you all rebirth and a joyous spring.

Here's the asparagus:














The simple plate:














Grandma Loverde's lamb mold:














And the lamb, frosted with Vanessa's favorite frosting, confetti-filled. We decided it was a disco lamb. Usually the lamb is standing, hanging out in a bed of Easter grass. This year's lamb is lazy. It's made with strawberry cake mix, so it looks pink inside. This is no homemade cake. Crazy storebought kitsch all the way: