Easter Eggs and Disappointment

Easter is approaching, I’m told. I never know when Easter comes because it changes all the time. I suppose it’s a good thing it’s not set on one day because this way we always totally get a long weekend, but it keeps you on your toes because you never know when it’s going to land. Whoa, it's Easter! Holy Crap!

Easter was not a huge deal in my family. It was a day of sugary treats and “I suppose we should have ham”. Mom did lay out egg hunts for my brother and I, giving him strict instructions to leave the most obvious eggs for his little sister with the low tolerance for frustration and short attention span. Thanks, Garth. They hid those solid sugar candy eggs that would rot your teeth in seconds flat. Loved them.

 We got chocolate bunnies until I was about 12 and then that gravy train was abruptly derailed. The last Easter chocolate I got was a big solid Easter Egg with my name written on it in scrawled icing.  It was pretty unusual for the time, and I guess mom figured to give her egg shaped daughter one last chocolate hurrah before Junior High school and peer pressure fell in to place and I started associating chocolate with shame and binging. 

We didn’t do a big dinner. My parents were like the Captain and Tenille of the United Church of Selkirk, Manitoba, and so were busy doing Easter music things. Practicing the sad parts of Handal’s Messiah. It’s not all Hallelujah, you know. Mostly, but not all. 

But otherwise, at Easter for our family,  it was business as usual. Without Easter Egg hunts, what was the fuss about? Maybe Jesus was the first Easter Egg hunt. His disciples hid him, like a candy egg, under a rock, and then God went looking for him and found him! What fun!

Selkirk has a large Ukrainian community and Easter was a bigger deal to them, what with their breads and holopchis and all. In a weird way, I’ve since associated Ukrainians with Easter, their amazing Easter Eggs being the likely source.

http://www.ukrainianegg.com/cool.htm

Those Easter Eggs were beautiful. And evil. Mocking me.

When I was young, we did get to paint Easter Eggs. Sounds like fun, right? Sadly, although it kept me occupied for a while, it was ultimately a let down due to my unrealistic easter egg expectations. In my mind they would need to look like the Ukrainian easter eggs, all ornate and filigreed, like the ones in Susan Henkawich’s mom’s china cabinet . When they turned out looking like pastel turds, I was always disappointed. Why couldn’t I make them look like the fancy ones? 

 Mom never got me the kits with the wax so that you could make easter eggs that didn’t look like hell.  She got us the cardboard kits form the drug store that had cute bunnies on the packaging but delivered nothing but bland watery colour. 

Note that this package contains "US Certified Colors". No Communist Hippy Colors in this box!

Fancy Easter Eggs weren’t part of our culture. Scots don’t decorate Easter Eggs. They deep fry them and pickle them. And then spend hours yelling at them in a drunken rage.

Damned stupid eggs. Owe me money. Stole my sheep. 

Since those days I have had little interest in painting Easter Eggs. Seems so wasteful. Those eggs could be used to make some kind of bland, heavy meal that needs to be stuffed into an animals intestine. It’s hard being Scottish. Everything is awful. 

Anyway, Happy Easter.

Truck Stops

I won’t complain about my job. I’ll tell you it’s relatively decent money for the actual amount of work I have to do. Some things about it are difficult, as is the case with any job. The actual thing I am paid to do, get up on stage and sing songs, is easy and fun. It’s all the stuff in between that can be a bit of a grind.

For example, I am currently sitting in a van with my colleagues, hurtling down the highway toward some place in North Carolina. Our trip will take 5 hours or so in total today. Then we’ll arrive at the venue, do sound check, eat something iffy and then get ready to do the show. The weather has been decent, except for one stretch where the rain was so heavy we had to slow to a snail’s pace  - couldn’t see 10 feet in front of us. I tend to look at my shoes during those kinds of moments and let the person driving do all the worrying. I never drive. Weird how I’m never asked to.

Being in the van, waiting at airports, being shuttled around – it’s pretty mind numbingly boring.

So with so much van time and so much waiting around until show time, it ends up being that snack time becomes the highlight of our day.

Truck stops have become, to me, oases in a desert of dull, a just-around-the-bend beacon of hope. Even if I don’t need anything, I still go in if we stop. Truck stops are good, and here is why:

Truck stops have bathrooms. I need to pee. A lot.

Truck stops have coffee. I like coffee, even though it makes me have to pee. So coffee and pee and truck stops become this self perpetuating trifecta or coffee-drive-pee-coffee-drive-pee.

There are always, always women at truck stops who are rather unattractive and that helps with my super super super super super low self esteem.

Truck stops have an inordinate amount of candy. It’s like the big room full of gold and jewels and riches that Indiana Jones finds in the Temple of Whatnot. I am simply dazzled by it all. I tend to stand in front of the rows of neon packages, stupefied, not even sure if I’m dreaming, let alone where to begin. I usually get a Tootsie Pop. I like those.

One row of 4 rows of candy

One row of 3 rows of salty snack treats

           

Some have beer, which is not smart, I don’t think.

Beer and driving, together.

Truck Stops provide us with entertainment and excellent reading material.

Sometimes Brad will do yoga at truck stops. I’m not sure why this is a good thing, but it’s not necessarily a bad thing, so I’ll put it in the list. It certainly gives me something to wonder at and gives me an excuse to use one of my favourite phrases:  Godamned Hippy.

Weirdo.

Our tour manager, Wayne, has been on the road so long that he actually has favourite truck stops throughout North America.

            -Loves (Western US)

            -Flying J (US National chain)

            -MTO (sandwich shop at Sheetz, Gas Stations in Pennsylvania, recently sighted in North Carolina. Oh the rejoicing in the van when we made THAT discovery)

            -Baja Fresh – a west coast chain, recently showing up on Interstate 95 (Stuart says it’s not that good).

Wayne likes stopping at truck stops because it gives him a chance to have a smoke. He usually lights up further away from the gas pumps. I guess he was just feeling a bit adventurous that day.

The larger truck stops usually have decent coffee with a bit of choice. However, we have been known to drive 20 minutes out of our way to hit a Starbucks, affectionately called “Fourbucks”.  We like their oatmeal.

                                 

So you can see how super awesome truck stops can be. It's kind of hard to forage for a decent meal at a truck stop that doesn't have a diner attached. So sometimes I just have M&Ms and tootsie pops for lunch. I always gain weight every time I go on tour. Even though I make a pretty solid effort to get to hotel gyms almost every day, I still end up putting on about 5 pounds a trip. It’s pretty disheartening. I just can’t resist the lure of the truck stop candy aisle.

Me, at start of tour:

Me at end of tour: 

God help me.