It’s Easter. Someone was recently talking to my son about Easter, and he did not know what it was. He is nearly eight. I’ve always kind of found Easter to be gross. Like Jesus was literally mother fucking crucified (one of the more horrific ways to die) and then comes back to life after three days of being dead, which eww, and then it gets celebrated with bunnies and eggs? No thank you. Spring is so baller, no need for a bizarro Christian/Pagan mashup holiday of resurrection and spring.

I literally have no idea how long Passover is and I ate a bagel yesterday which I am pretty sure does not follow the Passover rules and regulations. I am a less than ideal Jew enthusiast/hopeful convert. This Passover. Maybe next time around I will be more on point.

I am here in South Bloomingfield. It is my third time in this cabin, which allows dogs and is near many beautiful hiking trails. The last two times I was here was with my now dead dog Zelda, now I am here with Gozer who I have had a little over six months. It feels very special to be here with Gozer, though sometimes the memories of Zelda are intense; my grief flares.

Zelda escaped here and I just barely caught her, then much yelling at my son ensued: he had been the one who allowed her to escape. Gozer already escaped once in the same situation, it wasn’t nearly as terrifying, she isn’t a schipperke.

May your spring be full of rebirth.