Hi Darling Ones,

Happy Easter Eve? Is that a thing? My knowledge of Christianity leaves much to be desired, and frankly Easter is confusing. Is Jesus still dead in a cave on Easter Eve? I don’t know. My Catholic Grandmas are so ashamed of me right now, from, heaven? They died years ago. I’m not so sure about heaven. And if I do, I hope the Gmas have better things to do than worry about my ignorance re: Jesus.

What they should be concerned about is my ignorance re: Rutabagas.

For Easter Dinner my mom has requested boiled dinner. This was her favorite meal growing up. It was something my Grammu would make all the time when my mom was a kid. Probably because it was easy and cheap as hell make to feed a family of eight.

I think I had boiled dinner once in my entire life. My mom is not one for cooking, even something as allegedly simple as boiled dinner.

Now I get the pleasure of trying to recreate this dinner based on my mom’s creaky memory of it — I think there was rutabaga — and some googling — how to prepare rutabaga. I’m a little alarmed that every recipe I’ve found does not mention salt or pepper. Maybe the ham is supposed to be salty enough? I’m scared.

When I say pleasure, that’s not sarcasm at all. I’m pleased I can make dinner, because last Easter I couldn’t. Last Easter I peeled six carrots and then had to rest for the remainder of the day. Sister #4 and my mom had to make dinner.

While I whine about how hard and slow stroke recovery is, it’s kinda nice to have this holiday benchmark. Last Easter was so awful, only like a month after the stroke and I was so weak. This Easter I’m going to make dinner and deviled eggs and Irish Soda Bread and I won’t even need to take a nap.

I’ve come a long way, baby.

Jodi

P.S. If you’re wondering what to get me for Easter, it’s this LEGO roller skate kit.