He Hath Risen

And the nation has experienced yet another year of neon Peeps. I wonder what they do with un-bought Peeps. Do they go to the dollar stores, or do they, in fact, have the shelf life of Twinkies and last for another thousand Easters?

Here in Crabland, I am grateful that we missed the town egg hunt on Easter Sunday, which is held on the village green and sponsored by our local bank. Each year at 10:30, the children of Crabtown hunt for painted boiled eggs, an activity that should be very sweet with abundant frolicking of kids in a setting bursting with smalltown charm and innocence...but I have heard that it is in actuality an APPALLING occasion to be avoided at all costs. I was warned to stay away, because apparently parents of children get very competitive during the egg hunt and muscle in to block off whole hectares of egg-laden real estate, the better for their child to get as many as humanly poss in his or her basket.

"If you go, wear shin guards," a friend advised us. "And DON'T be late." The hunt starts at 10:30 but -- so we are told by several parents -- it is ALL OVER by 10:32.

Sensible Crabtot woke up with a fever on Easter Sunday and thus we were not able to make the event. Naturally a part of me wanted to go and was disappointed not to, since I wanted to give FULL REPORT on this blog. However, maybe it's better I didn't go: I heard that this year parents behaved themselves and the hunt was laid-back and fun for all.

Laid back. Fun for all. No thanks. Crabmommy can't write about that!