To market, to market to buy a fat hog. Home again, home again...without the danged ham. This Mrs. Piggy went to market, and had to ask the cashier if smelling salts would be available at checkout. A small ham of unknown brand and lesser quality was thirty-five to forty dollars. It's a good thing my family had already decided, in the interest of conserving gasoline ($4.18 at the cheapest station yesterday), to combine Easter, Mother's Day, and my birthday into one celebration. This is normally my "bonanza" time of year when I see a lot of my Kids. Economics being what they are, it only makes sense to roll the visits into one. One of those ridiculous hams would not have been enough to feed my gang. No wonder the store had put out a bin of frozen turkeys, too. A pound of butter, for crying out loud, was pennies under five dollars. My mother had served the same menu at Easter that her mother had put on the table, and it's the only Easter menu my Kids have ever had. It hurts my heart to break a tradition that is, let's face it, over one-hundred years old. The cashier just looked at me blankly when I asked about smelling salts, but I'm really surprised that customers weren't falling over left and right. I know I got a little weak in the knees when she hit the total key.
Bumper stickers seem to have gone out of vogue, but I saw one yesterday that made me smile. "Hug a logger. You'll never go back to trees." It went right along with the song on the radio, "Save a horse. Ride a cowboy!" (A little country humor there.)
Home again, home again, jiggety-jog, was a gorgeous drive. Even more fruit trees were in bloom, but not the dogwood that predicts the last snow. That thirty-minute ride through the countryside was enough to bring peace to my soul. We sold our travel trailer shortly after moving to Fair Play. There was no other place we wanted to go. When I come back, I'm Home.