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Learning to Fall: like christmas.
For the first time in three years Easter was something to celebrate, and if you had told me I'd be happy early in spring even with a cast on my right arm, I would have told you you were nutty like a squirrel.
Dad did his usual trick of making a fake cake for us to marvel over and then grilling a leg of lamb in some crazy way that I usually want to chew and then spit up and hide it under the edge of my plate. But this year the cake and the lamb were something even better than hotdogs on opening day at Veteran stadium.
This year, Dad took a two foot by two foot by two foot square cardboard box and spread icing on it and stuck on a bunch of those pink marshmallow snowballs to the perfectly square box with its slick corners and sharp edges. It looked like a carnival we could eat.
When Alex and Jillian tried to cut it with a cake knife Dad, Momma, and me laughed our heads off until we thought maybe the tasty grilled lamb would come shooting out our noses. The box cut like cardboard and collapsed, almost ruining the store bought pecan pie he hid under the decorated cover.
"What kind of cake is this?" Alex asked.
"It's an Easter fake!" I told him and grabbed a piece and hacked at it with the fork in my left hand. I love me some pecan pie.
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