April 16. Sunday Night.

Hi Journey.

Easter reminds me that life is precious, yes for myself but also for everybody else.

Yes, Tee alighted from her mom's car this morning sporting a brand new powder blue Easter dress and dainty white sandals. She sparkled.

Jack didn't dare say anything. He was decked out in a smart tan corduroy suit that shouted third generation hand-me-down. It looked like a rite-of-passage suit, one that generations of Heckstrom's were tortured in since time immemorial; or 1978—which for a third grader is the same thing.

Worked yesterday at the shop, but did take a two hour break in the afternoon for the annual Easter Egg hunt. There's a neighborhood park just a few blocks from our church, and although our church didn't officially sponser the hunt—the neighborhood association does that—our church certainly helps promote it.

Journey, it is just so much fun to watch the little ones chase after their eggs. And yes, there is a grand prize; a golden egg. The kid that uncovers that egg is awarded a huge Easter basket full of toys and candy and I think this year there are even four movie passes nestled inside.

An Easter Egg hunt is really half-race, half-hunt; it's an equal combination of both. It's one of those few times in life you are actively foraging for big game (OK, big egg ) but you're also competing frantically against the other searchers. Here in the Plains hunting is mostly a solo sport, or at best a time where small packs of men go out with shotguns and dogs; there's very little competition, unless it's to see who can bag the most birds.

But the Easter Egg hunt is different. Most of these little kids only get this much adrenaline pumping through their bodies at recess.

My job is to coach and ref—break up any disputes over eggs, and urge on the smaller kids (just a little) on which clump of grass might just be a fantastic but over-looked hiding place.

There was a little black boy with curly black hair and the dorkiest plaid shorts you ever saw racing about fanatically. He kept twirling his little plastic faux-wicker basket back and forth like a huge pendulum; for every two eggs he put in, one bounced out. He tripped on a little berm and he went flying head first but his grip held firm and somehow he managed to keep the basket from spilling or flying away even as his side smacked hard against the ground.

He'll make some football coach happy someday, hanging onto the ball like that.

Page 2.