It may be irrelevant to sing my musings of wild baby bunnies and hunts for technicolored eggs two days after Easter Sunday, but I’ve got Cadburry Eggs in my pocket and sweetly speckled Robin Eggs hiding in the corners of my couch, and I simply cannot find it in me to let my Easter adventures come to an end.
Come Easter morning, there is nothing I would rather do than embrace the cold, purple morning than by running through the soft grass, still wet and sparkling with dew drops from the Moon. This is partly because by 8 a.m. I am already jacked up on the sugar that flourishes from my Easter basket. But there’s something instinctively inside me that simply cannot resist the lovely dawn. I suppose it’s the child that still lingers within me. The same one that must stubbornly accept the dreadful fact that I am "too old" to hunt for eggs.
I love the hunt. It is then that I feel truly wild, running recklessly through the trees and inviting foliage, my swift eyes keen to spot a creamy yellow, hot pink, or hidden green egg. And the thrill of kneeling amongst all the creatures and baby flowers, to tenderly crack open the captured egg as the coveted rainbow beans spill out into my palm. Even the greedy gold miners would be jealous.
On the Eve of Easter, I watched a dusty, beaten VHS that I have always held dear to my heart. Here Comes Peter Cottontail is a charming Rankin-Bass holiday television special from the seventies. I was delighted to watch the untold story of the Easter Bunny over and over again as I painted eggs, which I am most certainly not too old to do. It brought happiness to my soul and roses to my cheeks, and now the song "If I Could Only Get Back to Yesterday" will not drift out of my head. But it's a wonderful song. I long to play it on the banjo.
Morning mass commenced as the sun continued to ascend the sky, and although inside the stained glass-studded church ladies wore their pearls and their flowered bonnets atop curly locks, and gentlemen tugged at pristinely ironed ties and suits, I couldn't help but smile and indulge in my simple Easter ensemble. I certainly couldn't frolic with mother nature in lacy frills and studded pink heels now could I? All I needed was a cotton skirt and a flowy blouse that kissed my skin in the brisk breeze. I finished it off with what I have titled my "Greek Goddess Sandals," golden like the eggs of fairytales and Mr. Willy Wonka's factory. I believe what I wear should reflect the mood I feel and the spirit of the day. Lemon cupcakes, lavender lilacs, and Easter basket treats came together to form a dainty, youthful creation, good for hunting or not.
I hope all the adventurers out there had a wonderful Easter, filled with spicy carrot cake, chocolate bunnies, and white chocolate Reese's Eggs (drool). Should you still have any jelly beans left, try not to overdose a second time within the same week. And do not ever let anyone tell you that you are too old to hunt easter eggs. Keep up with the hunt, keep running wild with the bunnies and birds and foxes until you fall helplessly to the refreshing spring grass. Then feast on chocolate that melts so decadently on your fingers, beneath the beautiful blinding sun.
Of all the whimsical ideas and assorted oddities I imagined myself publishing on this blog, not once, in my wildest dreams or most horrific nightmares did I ever expect to find myself posting about the NCAA. But March Madness has reached its peak, and the once sane, respectable citizens of Kentucky have morphed into red and blue beasts completely entangled in a ferocious frenzy. Opposing parties flaunt their sigil, the Louisville Cardinal or the Kentucky Wildcat, more arrogantly than a fop sporting a feathered codpiece at a Renaissance Fair. This culture and competition become incredibly unattractive to an artsy-fartsy gal like me. But alas, my mother is a devoted Wildcat fan, and I get drawn in nevertheless.
I like to play sports. Until I reached high school I could’ve even been labeled a jock. But I think sports are a dreadful bore to watch. When asked what kinds of sports I enjoy watching, I’m the kind of person who responds with gymnastics and figure skating. Whenever asked who I cheer for, UK or UofL, I usually say whichever team isn’t going to get me beat up or get my car keyed.
With all the rumpus and taunting each other, and me curling up in a quiet corner of the bluegrass state with a book in front of my face to try and block out the wild world, I somehow became inspired by all the banter. I did the unthinkable; I turned this lethal rivalry into art and made it something beautiful. Thus, yesterday I whipped up these Art Nouveau inspired drawings to represent each team.
If only the Final Four would be as peaceful as these two ladies.
I also concocted these Blue Velvet Unibrow Cupcakes for my mother. Because, come on, where would Kentucky be without Anthony Davis’ unibrow? (It's almost as famous as Angelina Jolie's right leg! Check out it's facebook page.) These royal blue beauties possess the intriguing taste of red velvet, with a surprise of sweet blueberry bursting here and there. I have found that even Cardinal fans I’ve given these treats to have found nothing but delight and a happy belly from them. If only all these red and blue foes could find it in them to sit down and share a cupcake, perhaps we would finally find peace.
That is, until Bod comes along and licks off all the cream cheese frosting.
At least she didn't eat the unibrow. Kentucky needs that magical unibrow to win.
The Raspberry is an exceptionally sexy fruit. It’s plump, heart-shaped form is tart yet ever so sweet and threatens to burst with sticky rouge and purple juices at even the nimblest of touches. I don’t believe there is anything I find more beautiful and attractive than a person whose soft lips are stained with deep colors of love from indulging on the small fruit, or whose white fingertips are speckled from plucking the berry from its rasp.
What a treat, what a triumph it is to reach through and beyond the prickly thorns that guard the bloomed beauties, only to finally grasp one with your tender finger buds and gently pull it from the labyrinth of brush. A needle of nature scratches then pricks your pure skin, but you don’t care. You lift back your head, let your eyelashes brush the sun, and kiss the berry with your pink tongue.
Unfortunately, the beautiful raspberries will not be sweet and ripe until the hot summer sun rests in the center of the sky in June.
Thank the food gods and technology for frozen produce! Just a trot over to the grocery store and I had in my possession the flash-frozen product of the fruit of which I speak. This convenient and affordable buy was all I needed to concoct a batch of lovely (and sexy!) Raspberry Coconut Cupcakes.
I say that I am inspired by everything that goes around and through my body. This time I mean it literally. The lush, pinkish raspberries sporadically stud the cake with a delightful tartness that contrasts so well with the light sweetness of the cake, as well as the tang of the cream cheese frosting. Try not to swoon.
These treats were so lovely that they reminded me of a dress I recently bought and they essentially inspired a whole outfit.
This dress comes from the store of all stores: Target. Where most of my purchased life comes from. I love the magenta polka dots scattered on the the pretty purple fabric, like raspberries floating in a purple sea. It's pretty but not too girly. And of course I had to toughen it up with my leather jacket. Also from Target. Of course.
Bod kept whining because my mother and I wouldn't play with her. So of course I had to include her in the photoshoot.
Here's the recipe for these wonderful little cakes. I adapted them from Growlingbelly. I really wanted the luscious raspberry tartness to burst through them, so I took the ruby red juices left over from the frozen berries and turned the typical (yet absolutely scrumptious!) cream cheese frosting into silky, pink raspberry cream cheese frosting! They taste awesome either way though. Seriously, is cream cheese frosting ever not delicious?