“Let the Hunts Begin”

By

Gerry Niskern

Tell the kids to get out their running shoes and practice their wind sprints. The furry rabbit with the huge ears is coming. Grandmothers all over the valley will be one step ahead of the pack showing the baby where the Easter eggs are hidden, while the older children shout, “No fair!”

Years ago, our kids and their cousins thought the Easter Bunny only left his eggs on the desert. Thanks to grandma and grandpa, prior to our annual picnic, the eggs were hidden early on Easter morning among the rocks at Carefree.  Needless to say, there were no houses or resorts to intrude on the quest for eggs among the huge boulders.

The simple egg is perhaps the oldest and most universal symbol of rebirth and new life. The decorations and celebrations of the holiday may change with new generations, but the tradition of dyeing eggs in spring colors and giving them to family and friends goes way back. The Egyptians and Persians practiced this tradition long before Christ was born.

How did the egg come to Easter? In the Middle Ages it was forbidden to eat eggs during the 40 days of Lent. However, the hens kept laying and out of the resulting glut, the Easter egg tradition was born. The European countries, especially the Ukrainians, developed beautiful egg patterns, called the pysanky method. Ukrainian egg kits can even be ordered online.Easter’s place on the calendar was not actually fixed to the Sunday after the first full moon of spring until 325 AD by Roman Emperor Constantine. He may also get credit for starting the traditional Easter Parade. The Emperor ordered every citizen to wear his best clothing to observe the Holy Day.

Different cultures have developed their own unique ways of decorating Easter eggs. The typical young Easter egg artist starts out with wax crayons, delicate designs to follow and great anticipation. If they’re like our family, after the first few eggs are colored and cups of dye spilled, the job becomes a little rushed.

I guess I’d have to say one of the funniest Easter stories I remember was told by a young friend of mine. Seems she was always warning her hubby too watch his “salty” language around the baby. On Easter morning their little two- year- old started with her basket to find eggs.  With every egg she spotted, imagine her mother’s shock to hear, “There’s a !!#@#!** Egg!” Instead of daddy being chagrined, he kept inviting neighbors over to “listen to my daughter find Easter eggs.”

So as I said, there’s something for everyone.

Many Paths to Happiness

by

Gerry Niskern

There is a famous old saying that goes, “Happiness is not a station where one arrives…..it’s a manner of traveling.”

I had a magnet with that maxim written on it on my refrigerator for many years. The kids in the family sometimes asked, “What does that mean, exactly?”

I tried to answer many times, and the more I’ve thought about it,  I’ve come to realize that you could interpret that many ways.

I like to think that the manner in which you speak to your fellow human beings is one path on this journey called  life. Sure there is lots of kidding and banter among friends, but basically a person is known by his words and manner of speaking. Are their words warm, natural and their tone constant, in exchanging ideas?

I was fortunate enough to have a very “democratic” mother. She always admired people who were at ease in speaking to a child, cleaning person, cashier, seniors, landscapers, the “boss” or anyone. She couldn’t tolerate anyone who “put on the dog” by changing their manner or tone when conversing with someone they perceived to on a higher level socially.

Like her, I’ve come to believe that the way you speak to anyone, regardless to their station in life, is an ongoing process through this verbal path of life.

How are your travels?

HAVE YOU BEEN TO A BASEBALL GAME LATELY?

By

GERRY NISKERN

When he first started coming to our house to spend the night the baseball game could start before bedtime. Our living room was Niskern Field. The bases were all the sofa pillows and the Nerf ball and bat were required equipment. He could imitate all the pitchers on the Diamond Backs. And he had the batting stance of the other players down pretty good too.  When the game was finally called for night time,  it was  understood that it would continue bright and early the next morning.

His great-grandpa was the pitcher and I was the catcher, and of course, he was the constant batter. We never even got a turn. These games started when he was around three and have never stopped.

He was signed up for a pee wee team when he was three and his parent’s job was just beginning. They are the ones that drove him to practice and coached in the early years. His dad helped prepare many fields before the games. His mother manned the refrestment stands or brought the team snacks. They spent mega bucks on ball clubs over the years and traveled out of state to many games. He had an opportunity to  play and improve year after year.

His mother used enough bleach to easily fill the Grand Canyon keeping the white uniforms clean and ready for each game. She also had to keep an eye out for the younger sister playing behind the bleachers, except when she was raiding mom’s purse for money for the snack stand.

He played two years for the Pumas of Paradise Valley College. He is a great hitter, terrific third baseman and relief pitcher. He went on to play for Arkansas, and will graduate this year, but due to the Pandemic affecting the baseball season, he has another year of eligibility to show his stuff.

I’ve probably seen him playing for the last time. And I will miss that but hey, he’s following his dream that started all those years ago and hasn’t faltered!