Today I am making a pot roast. I am roasting a wad (so I say wad a lot, that don't make you right) of meat in a pot for dinner tomorrow with my family. My mother has been very careful not to utter the word Easter whenever she calls to talk about this weekend. I'm pretty sure she planned dinner for Saturday just so there would be no mistake that this was not an "Easter" dinner.

Why the double speak and subterfuge? I'll tell you. After years of complaining, blathering and/or bitching about how I am not a Christian, so why am I celebrating easter/christmas/Jesus did something like being born or dying day, It has all finally paid off.

Apparently, everyone in my family is tired of hearing my flapping jaws, and they have decided to pretend like nothing special is happening this weekend. I'm hoping it'll be like I have been in a coma, and nobody has the heart to tell me its really 2051. "What are all those colored eggs for?" I'll exlaim. "Oh, they just turned bad." my mom will say. "But why do you have bags of fake grass in your closet?" I'll reply. "Oh, just filling some pillows." she'll say.

Maybe in the middle of dinner I'll scream, "The baby Jesus!", just to see if they'll respond.

And let's be sure take a few moments this weekend to remember the ODB...