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I’ve always loved Easter Sunday ever since I was a kid. Was it the chocolate, my new patent leather Mary Janes, or the ceasefires my parents called actually speaking to one another. I can still see the lilac peeking from … Continue reading
I cried every Easter as a kid because my mother served lamb. When she finally switched to ham, I was already in therapy. Why a pig in the oven bothered me less remains a mystery. But that lamb was another … Continue reading