When you hail from the birthplace of the Olympics, there is only one way to kick off Easter Sunday — with a competition!
There is nothing preternatural about parenting. You just gotta want it!
We’re fortunate. Our family gets to celebrate Easter twice. I’m Roman Catholic, Maria is Greek Orthodox, and when our two Easters are on successive weekends, it’s ten straight days of good will among men and women I wish we could replicate year-round.
February 11th. That’s when my wife and I went on our first date. It began with a misunderstanding.
We lift our feet to fall in love.
Chancing upon a new Gorgonzola would fill my parents with the unbridled excitement normally reserved for finding a gold coin tucked under an errant broadsheet in the middle of a polar night in Hammerfest.
Would that simply exclaiming “Honey, I’m home” magically check all of the baggage accumulated at work at the door. Sometimes, you need that pause, that palliative comma in the middle of a long sentence.