Easter Eggs and Gumbo

We colored eggs yesterday, and the Spouse, er, The Easter Bunny left a basket of goodies for Wee Lass to find this morning when she came downstairs after getting out of bed. She was very excited, especially when she saw the nibbled pieces of carrot we had left out for the Bunny. She laughed and oohed and aahed over the candies and the eggs. Her laughter warmed my heart.

Eggs, resurrection and rejuvenation on my mind as I sat down to write something this morning. Inspiration coming to me this morning in the form of sunlight streaming through the window next to the couch. A chilly Easter Sunday outside, clear warmth spilling across me and the computer as I write, here inside the house. Eggs made me think of food, which made me think of cooking, which made me think of writing. Which in turn, made me think of how little writing I have done lately. I am, I realized, in dire need of rejuvenation. Not exactly being in position to provide it for myself, I have been seeking it in the work of others.

I have read of a gumbo that, believe it or not, includes sliced hardboiled eggs as part of the recipe. It may sound weird, but it is in keeping with "gumbo" as a concept, a method rather than a proscribed set of ingredients.

And isn't that a wonderful thing?

I used to want a recipe for everything, no matter what I was doing: cooking, reading, writing...living. For a while this worked. Recipes are useful in that they give structure and ideas where there may be none. A recipe can give you a map when one has no idea of the terrain. Recipes can also be limiting. Be careful the recipe does not become a trap.

Recipes are dangerous in that they only inform, they do not teach.

Following recipes is not so much an exercise in achieving brilliance as it is one of avoiding failure. The distinction is subtle, but crucial. I say this because I have eaten more of my mistakes than I have dished up my triumphs. And I have learned so much from those mistakes. There comes a time where one has to do, not just be a passive observer.

That is not to say it is impossible to learn by watching, observing, studying.

Last week I was honored to have three guests posts here on Irish Gumbo: Captain Dumbass, Idiot Boy and cIII. And it occurred to me, as sat down in the sunbeam at the window, that I hadn't asked those fine gentlemen to post because I was too lazy.

It was because I wanted to learn something. I was looking for rejuvenation, something to shore up my sagging spirits and worn-out mind after a long winter of cold, grey damp and spiritual corrosion. I reckoned all three of those fellows would be able to help, and my instinct was rewarded. My spirits were lifted by their humor, rejuvenated by their insight. I learned something about writing. Suffering from thin blood and cold hands, that was the tonic I needed to shake off some rust.

Am I ready to get back in the driver's seat, set my feet in the blocks, hit the ignition button? Not quite, but I am warming up. It's spring, there are blossoms on cherry and forsythia. I can feel the sap rising in the trees. It won't be long.

Happy Easter, one and all. Time to start waking up.