Easter eggs, Murakami, and other adventures

                                    
Thank you all for your wonderful responses to my Easter post. It warmed my heart to receive so many holiday greetings.

Now, I’ll tell you a couple of stories, all of which happened in a row.

As it happens, last Saturday, just before Easter, I had one of those last-moment realizations that I was missing a key ingredient for my salad. My husband and I decided to take a stroll to the store. It wasn’t such a bad idea, especially since it was one of those days when the sun finally decided to warm up Toronto a little. I really love those moments, right before a holiday, when everyone spills out onto the streets, and there is a feeling of excitement and anticipation hanging in the air.

When we reached the store, my cell phone started to ring. I stayed outside to pick it up while my husband went in. Since I was standing right next to the door, the following events unfolded right before my eyes. I wasn’t just in the front row; I was actually taking part in the spectacle.

A young woman wearing high heels came out of the door. In her hands, there was a box of Easter eggs, and her facial expression stated “Mission accomplished”. Trailing behind the girl was her boyfriend, along with a number of grocery bags. You can probably guess what happened next. The girl took one slightly unbalanced step, and tipped sideways. Almost in slow motion, I see the box of eggs part with her hands and turn upside down. Most of the eggs went splat against the ground, but there were a couple that somehow managed to survive the fall – perhaps the box had softened the impact. Anyways, one egg went rolling in my direction, and, not having the presence of mind to act reasonably, I tried to stop it with my foot, and ended up cracking it. Too bad I had nothing to console the girl with. The moral of the story is – don’t shop for Easter eggs in high heels.

Later on, we visited the bookstore. I wondered whether I’d be able to pick up any books by Haruki Murakami (my daughter’s favourite author) that she doesn’t have. When I asked two of the nearest store clerks about Murakami, they exchanged strange glances. One of them went to check the availability of the books on the computer, while the other went to look in the storage. I wondered why those books were left in the storage instead of the shelves. The clerk explained that lately, someone has been stealing Murakami books from that store – “It’s some kind of an obsession,” he said.

We couldn’t find anything my daughter hasn’t read, and so, with a slight feeling of disappointment, we prepared to return home.

As we left the bookstore and wandered down a couple of blocks, we saw a car come to a screeching halt. The door of the car opened, and we saw a young woman bend down from her seat and puke right on the sidewalk. We barely had the time to step away. We glanced at the driver, tryin to communicate “Too much beer, eh?” and he nodded at us dejectedly.

That was a little too much strangeness for one day. Luckily, our Sunday turned out peaceful and relaxing. I spent it with my family, enjoying lovely weather, Easter treats, and generally lazing around. I hope that all of you had a wonderful time too.

                                                                  

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