Today, I’m betting on Canada geese.

A new challenge every day. Today it was finding a place to run the dogs where Canada geese are not. Apparently, dogs see geese droppings as a delicacy.

What does it mean to be a deist?

“Belief in the existence of a God on the evidence of reason and nature only, with rejection of supernatural revelation. Belief in a God who created the world but has since remained indifferent to it.”

I suppose theologians love to sit around and discuss these sorts of things all the time, but I find it troubling.

We may believe in a creator god because we can reasonably conclude that an ordered universe did not just happen. And we can see the divine in nature.

Yeah. That sounds right.

And most of the time it does seem like “he” has since withdrawn, a bit like an absentee father.

That would explain his just sitting back and watching things develop, both good and horrific. Taking no interest, responsibility, credit or blame. Not getting involved in hearing the prayers of those begging for an end to disease. Or in rejoicing at the human invention of a vaccine.

And if he does hear prayers, does he care more if it is the prayer of one terrified mother or the prayers of a huge congregation?

And why do we only sometimes discern any response to prayer at all?

There are those who will say that he responded. He just said “no.”

So what’s the point?

If he is omniscient, he knows what I want and need without my asking. And why would an omnipotent deity need beseeching and praise and worship from his creatures? That seems more like an egotistical human to me.

These are clearly not appropriate thoughts from an old woman on a beautiful Easter day.

I’m going back out into the garden. I have no troubling questions there.

It was a rare, warm, sunny day. Roxie and Dolly and I walked around the neighborhood and then around the cemetery.

So many lovely things in the neighborhood.

A big-leaf maple just about to make some big leaves:

Poetry:

Tulips:

On the other hand:

I do understand shutting down all sports this spring. The NBA. High schools and colleges. Sabrina Ionescu. I thought the worst thing was no March Madness until I saw this in my neighborhood. If I hadn’t sold my basketball at my last garage sale, I would go up there and shoot hoops, just hoping to be chastised.

And I love to walk in my neighborhood cemetery. In fact, since I was a little girl, I have always loved to walk in cemeteries and read the stones and do the arithmetic and think about how long or how short peoples’ lives were. There’s so much history in cemeteries.

I particularly remember one year when I lived in southern Virginia. There is so much history there. I was always an explorer, sometimes going where I was not supposed to. Forgive me my trespasses.

One day, way out in a bunch of brambles, I came upon a 200-year-old burial plot. About six rather remarkable head stones. One large one commemorating a mother and her seven little children. Lord, have mercy.

I remember always visiting the graves of my great grandparents and later my grandparents — all of whom I knew — in the Durant cemetery and usually bringing a potted plant to set there. I remember Mama Harrison always squatting down at Papa’s grave and pulling a few imaginary weeds. She is buried next to him now.

It always interests me how people feel about grave decorations. Some families favor simple, flat grave stones that can be mowed right over, perhaps visiting once a year and placing a single lily.

Others find comfort in more elaborate arrangements. These decorations were new in the cemetery yesterday, although the burial was some years ago:

You can be sure Alfredo’s family will be there again on Easter.

When I was a little girl, four things were very important about Easter.

1. Going to church
2. New clothes
3. Eggs
4. Easter dinner

Not much to say about going to church except all the Easter hymns, Easter lilies, and ladies in new hats.

As for new clothes, Mother made sure that everything I had on was brand new from panties to socks. She often made my dress. I had a hat and gloves.

As for the eggs, Mother and I carefully hard-boiled exactly one dozen and dyed them a few days before Easter and put them in the same basket I used year after year. Then, before I got up on Easter morning, my personal Easter Bunny hid those eggs around the yard and left the empty basket sitting by the door. They were really hard to find. I was an only child then so I had my very own hunt. I loved it.

And that was it. No plastic, no candy, no chocolate. No wild, crazy kids running through a field grabbing for eggs that are just lying everywhere, not even hidden.

Then off to church all decked out and back home for Easter dinner. Our holiday meals were always right after church, never in the evening. I never thought about how the women in the family pulled that off. The menu was always ham, deviled eggs, scalloped potatoes, and coconut meringue pie.

Easter was different then. Simple. Better. It will be different this year too. Simple. Not better.

Please! Just tell us the truth. I no longer believe in Santa Claus, the Easter bunny, or the Tooth Fairy. However, I would like to be able to trust my country’s leaders. A 50¢ bottle of tonic never helped.