Our neighborhood organized an egg hunt in the woods this weekend, Sweetpea’s very first. Since we’re only just back from our trip, I didn’t think we’d make it, but a friend called and said she had sent in eggs not only for her girl but for ours. So nice of her! And of course that settled the matter.
That morning the weather was colder than anyone expected — downright dank and chilly — but the kids had a grand time. Younger than most, Sweetpea nevertheless held her own, rustling eggs out of pine needles and from between rocks and roots. We have since played Egg Hunt many times in our own living room, and no doubt will do so for some time; the game appears to have staying power.
As for me, I’m finally coming out of my jet-lag stupor. When I wake up in the mornings, I not only know my own name, but I have a good idea of where I am and what day it is. I’ve even started to remember roughly where I was when I broke off rewriting that novel of mine.
Surely it can be only a small step from that to actually writing, yes? Though between joining in egg hunts and planting poppies and making hot cross buns, I somehow haven’t gotten around to that yet.