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  • I am woolgathering, just thinking back on many Easters in the past. I have lots of favorite Easter memories - like the one when my brother Jeff mistakenly picked up the coffee cup filled with blue egg dye instead of his real coffee cup and had a big swallow. That's a good Easter memory. Boy, did we laugh!

    There was the Easter when my daughter Gracie, age three, threw herself on the floor and had a full-blown tantrum in front of all the relatives. She was all dressed in white lace and a bonnet like the Easter angel she was not, perhaps experiencing the effects of one too many jellybeans.

    Perhaps my favorite Easter in recent memory is the one when I was driving back to Pennsylvania from a month's stay in the Florida Keys. I stopped somewhere off the highway at a Fireworks Superstore. I was in the Deep South. We don't have explosives like that in Pennsylvania. The store had every kind of firework a pyromaniac's heart could desire. Seriously, it was hard to choose.

    I stood in line with my Jumbo Pack, a wide selection of everything in the store - a present for my boys. Ahead of me in line, a young man in a white wife-beater with a cigarette behind one ear was buying out the store. He had rockets, cannons, firecrackers and sparklers. Money was no object. The man was holding a little girl with eyes as big as a baby lemur. He finished paying and then made a comment that I have never forgotten.

    He said, "Easter and fireworks! It don't get better than that!"
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