bounty

I'm just back from the annual day-before-Easter egg hunt in Touro Park, where I stood peering through the rusty fence and aged arches of the Old Stone Mill at all the little people gathering all their little treasures, sometimes to an excessive degree, and all I could think — alongside the strangeness of being part of it yet not part of it at all — was, "Geez, it's been a while."

Still, I remember those little shoes (with Velcro straps). Those little tights. Those little hands. The Easter Bunny.

So I walked over to see him — the bunny, standing over on Pelham Street, outside Channing Memorial Church — and he gave me a shrug. Actually, the shrug was intended for the scared little boy behind me who wanted no part of of it: this giant funny/fuzzy Easter Bunny. The accompanying mom was so disappointed. "OK, I guess you don't HAVE to say hello to the Easter Bunny," she was saying with a big dramatic sigh.

And that reminded me, just 'cause one thing always leads to another, of an occasion not long ago when I was picking up some cupcakes from the Mad Hatter Bakery on Broadway. (The Mad Hatter's a rabbit, right? So it's not totally illogical that I'd be reminded?) As I stood deliberating over the wealth of colorful cupcake choices, including a full host of Angry Birds (with whom I'm essentially unfamiliar but recognize in a generic sort of way), I spied something on what must have been the employee bulletin board. The baker/proprietor, Audra, let me step behind the counter to take a quick pic, just because it really cracked me up.

Actually, now that I think of it, the Mad Hatter isn't a rabbit — that's the March Hare — so I guess what I really am is cracked. Or just forgetful. Or both.

In any case, before I knew it, it was over. Seriously, the egg hunt didn't last more than twenty minutes before some guy reeled in the colored tape delineating the areas for different age groups, and everyone went back to their usual sunny pasttimes ...