Thoughts on Ostara and Easter

Ostara, unlike Imbolc, is a holiday I can actually get behind. (and jlm121 is snarking "And push?" Little sisters are such a mixed blessing)

By now spring is well on the way, a foot of snow at my parents' houses notwithstanding. Daffodils are blooming. Tulips are up, except the one our yardman mowed down. The Bradford pears are all snowy white and lovely next to the pink tulip trees.

Celebrating the arrival seems the thing to do. It is a season of rebirth, a promise that even warmer days (too awful hot days as well) are coming and the gardens will grow with all the good things of summer: cantaloupe and tomatoes, eggplants and watermelons, corn and beans and peas.

Yet, I find myself a little sad at this time too. It's hard to remember I don't celebrate Easter anymore. It's hard to decide if there will be baskets this year. Are they secular enough? Are they pagan enough? Should I have done them this weekend instead of in 2 weeks?

This all came to a head at the Dollar store the other day. They have Easter goods out. I saw a sheet of stickers of Jesus. All sorts of different paintings of him, from the child in the Temple to the Crucifixion. The one in the middle was this handsome, laughing man. He had just heard the funniest story ever from Peter or John or Judas and was laughing, because it was funny and because he loved the one who told it to him.

And I had a moment, like the moment when you bump into an old boyfriend you dearly loved, and still do. And he is still good-looking and still funny and still loves you too. (I have an ex like that) You remember how much you loved him them and wonder for a moment why you broke up. You wonder what you've lost and think about how things would be with him now.

Then you remember the break-up and why and exactly how ugly it got. And all the good memories and laughter in the world can't overcome the whys of the breakup.

I didn't buy the stickers.

But my kids are getting Easter baskets.

It passed

The bill is not perfect. It's barely acceptable.

On the other hand as someone whose kids have pre-existing conditions and whose writing partner is a childless adult with minimal income, this may be a lot better than what we were having last year.

It eases my worries a little if I can carry my kiddo on my insurance until she's 26 (8 more years) and she can't be refused for her own.

And getting Naomi in to see a real doctor for her multiple health problems, since she'll be covered under medicaid in 2014, will also be of the good.

Mudd's had his usual whine of "but how are we going to PAY for it?" I responded with my usual, "I have no idea, but every other civilized country manages it. Maybe now we can get health outcomes better than Sierra Fucking Leone."

It's a start.