Most Easters of late, I've traveled to spend time with my Uncle Ronnie. But because I'd just been there for the farm sale, I decided to stay put this Easter Sunday. I mapped my day with church and two separate gatherings at beloved friends' houses, where I'm always welcomed as a baby sister, crazy aunt or second cousin once removed.
Now Southern etiquette -- if not genetics -- compels certain things from a girl on Easter Sunday. It requires a new dress, but I'm frugal and often skirt that rule by "dolling up" an old one -- pairing it with a scarf, hat or jewelry that's too elaborate for ladies' standard ready-to-wear. It requires a heavier application of perfume and makeup. And it requires big hair -- bigger than normal, which for some is a remarkable feat in itself. Just shy of garish, I headed for the door, stopping to straighten a leaning stack of books I've been meaning to read for some time.
Services were beautiful, and many came forward during the altar call. Folks were especially nice to one another. There's just something about the blended notes of brimstone, chiffon and rose perfume that help even the most cantankerous of souls melt a bit.
After a lovely meal, egg hunt and time spent sneaking goodies to an old horse in the pasture, I left the first Easter dinner and headed toward the home of a dear friend of mine.
Rabbit and I have been friends about five years now. Both only children and writers with a similar finesse for romancing the ordinary, we hit it off instantly. Early on, she gave me a copy of the book she'd written, beautifully inscribing it to her new friend. I was honored and carefully placed it on the shelf among the stack of books I intend to read.
That evening, I sat at the dinner table among Rabbit's large, exuberant family. It was warm and inviting, like a modern-day remake of "The Waltons," with John Boy, Mary Ellen and the whole crew.
As John Boy began to tell a story, he rhetorically asked me, "So, you've read Mom's book, right?"
The entire table looked my way to see a mouth gaped open in search of words that never came. I finally folded myself into my plate as the table roared with laughter. John Boy declared it an Easter miracle and much better than any story he was about to tell.
I felt awful, yet loved in spite of my failure. Their affection wasn't contingent on my performance -- in fact, they all seemed even more accepting of me after the revelation. Rabbit smiled at me warmly, and if her feelings were hurt, it was unapparent.
I've heard it said, a friend is someone who loves you even after they know you. How grateful I am they don't fix my slip when it's showing, but rather, pull theirs down a little, too.
Rabbit is a true friend. And her book was a wonderful read.
NAN Our Town on 04/27/2017