Easter bread, a sorta’ sweet, anise and lemon flavored almost cake-like bread (due to the dozen eggs you use to make six loaves of it) is not a particularly Italian thing, but it is a huge thing in my Italian family. And while all of us in my family have made the bread at some point in their lives, only a few of us do it every. single. year. We’re the crazy ones.
It started with my gramma.
I was told that I should wait to plant my garden until the second week of May because we could get one more snow.
I couldn’t believe it. WOULDN’T believe it.
I’ve sort of been hunkered down, trying to survive Wisconsin’s horrible winter. My heavens it was terrible. For like a month, there was a foot of ice with ruts in the alley where I parked the jeep. A FOOT of ICE. It was unbelievable. I mean, I spent eight years in Cleveland and I don’t recollect anything this miserable. There were a few weeks where I had to carry my dog to a pee spot, put her down, let her pee, pick her up, carry her to number 2 spot, put her down, let her do her business, then pick her up and rush her back in the house before she shivered herself into shreds. Brutal. And don’t even get me started on the heating bills.
But I digress.
over at Peter’s blog. He has a couple of huge classes this semester. I guess word got out that he’s a “MUCH less than boring” professor.
Esta OK?
(Upon the advice of Wes Nations over at JohnnyVagabond.com. He’s been at this WAY longer and actually makes money off of his website. Neat guy too.)
I have to do something different with the photos. I’ll try to fix this afternoon. Untwist your knickers, people. Untwist your knickers.
Is anybody other than my mother having a hard time seeing the images?