Easter Sunday

The Easter Bunny respects local tradition and custom.

In Beauneville, the Easter Bunny brings baskets of goodies to the children and youth, and scatters painted wooden eggs around the Beaune Estate. The eggs are antique; nobody can quite remember where they came from. There are exactly seventy-two eggs, each numbered and painted with a distinct color scheme. The rules are simple: when all seventy-two eggs are found and turned over to the presiding adults, all children present receive a gift. This creates incentives for children to collaborate as they hunt down the eggs. At no time in living memory has any Easter egg hunt in Beauneville failed to recover all of the eggs.

The child who discovers egg number one, which is slightly larger than the others and golden in color -- is known to all as the "Easter Prince" (or "Princess", as they case may be) for the following year. Roderick never found the golden egg, but Molly found it once, when she was three. She remembers nothing of the event.

Bedford Glen has a somewhat different tradition. There, eggs contain money and gift cards, and the child who finds the most eggs gets to keep all of the eggs. This creates a certain disincentive for some children to report their findings, because they will lose what they found unless they found the most. To circumvent fraud, the Bedford Glen Police cordon off the egg-hunting area and check the pockets of departing children.

The child who finds the fewest eggs is bullied mercilessly for the year following the hunt.

In Stapleton, the eggs are filled with Food Stamps. Illegal aliens are invited to attend.

There is no Easter egg hunt in Smileyville, since Smileys deem such events too stressful for the little ones. Instead, the Easter Bunny simply drops off baskets of eggs filled with pickles and cheese, to which every youngster is entitled regardless of effort or accomplishment.

Roderick attends the Spring Holiday Candyfest with Molly and the Blooms. The Spring Holiday Bunny arrives at noon, to much acclaim from the children, each of whom receives a Spring Holiday Basket full of nutritious sugar-free fat-free snacks.

"Why do they call it a Candyfest?" asks Roderick as he rummages through little packages of Veggie Booty and Tomato Chips.

"It's the principle of the thing," says Molly.

The Smileys depart the Spring Holiday Candyfest at the Church of Nothing and drive to the Hello Spring! event at the Church of Anything. The Happy Spring Rabbit is already there, leading the yoga session. Rabbit invites the Smileys to join the group in Adho Mukha Svanasana ("Downward Facing Dog"), but they decline and fill their plates at the buffet table.

At the Church of Whatever, the covered dish supper looks very inviting, but after the nice buffet at the Church of Anything the Smileys prefer to just sit and listen to Lagomorpha Leporidae lecture on climate change. The gist of it: there is something called climate, and it's changing.

The last stop for the day is the Church of Irony, where Roderick and Molly meet up with Mr. Smiley; Alexander was tired and fussy, so Clotilde took him back to the cottage. This evening. Mr. Herbert Peacock riffs on whether or not "Christ rose from the dead" should be treated as an ironic statement. His conclusion: there is nothing to celebrate, you just have to muddle on with your miserable life.

Carlin Peas

Today is the fifth Sunday in Lent, also known as Judica, or Passion Sunday. It marks the beginning of a two-week period called Passiontide.

In 1969, the Roman Church eliminated Passiontide from the liturgy. The Old Ivy faculty took the position that since they had never paid much heed to Rome in the past, they weren't about to start now.

So it's still called Passiontide at Saint Cecilia Chapel.

Germans call this day Black Sunday, and veil the statues and crucifixes in black cloth. There are very few statues in St. Cecilia Chapel. The largest is a large marble nude of Venus, Reclining donated by Mr. Woody of the Class of 1926, which rests in an alcove at the rear of the chapel near the door. Placing a veil on Venus is problematic due to the custom among male students to rub Venus' breast when entering or leaving the Chapel. Rub Venus' breast, the saying goes, and you will have good luck for the day. Not wishing to deprive students of good luck, the College does not veil the statue. However, the climate change and community organizing posters are removed, and congregants are discouraged from placing stuffed Easter bunnies on or near the Altar until Easter itself, or a day or two before.

In England, this day is called Carlin Sunday due to the custom of eating Carlin peas, which look like this:



Mr. Throb of the Theology faculty addresses a throng of students gathered outside the Dining Hall, waiting for dinner to be served.

"Today is Carlin Sunday, when we eat Carlin peas," says Mr. Throb.

"That's kind of random," whispers Roderick to Molly, who nods.

Inside the Dining Hall, Roderick discovers that Mr. Throb is quite serious about this pea business, as Carlin peas are the only culinary option. Roderick takes a bowl:



He sits with Molly, Anna and Megan and dutifully samples the peas.

"Hmmm. Interesting," he says. "Grainy, with just a hint of beef suet, vinegar and salt."

"They taste like crap," says Megan.

"I think that's the general idea," says Anna. "For Passiontide, we avoid earthly pleasures out of respect for the liturgy."

Megan stops eating. "Does that mean I should put away my sex toy for the season?"

"No, but you might want to use it a little less."

Roderick smiles. Moderation, he thinks, is not in Megan's vocabulary.

Lake City, Here I Come

Today is Laetare, the fourth Sunday in Lent. According to Wikipedia, repository of all knowledge, the day is also called Mothering Sunday, Refreshment Sunday, Mid-Lent Sunday and Rose Sunday. The name Laetare comes from the Gregorian introit for the day, Laetare Jerusalem: et conventum facite omnes qui diligitis eam: gaudete cum laetitia, qui in tristitia fuistis: ut exsultetis,et satiemini ab uberibus consolationis vestrae. Psalm: Laetatus sum in his quae dicta sunt mihi: in domum Domini ibimus.

According to Mr. Throb of the Theology department, who presents today's inspirational message, this translates roughly to "Hooray, the Easter Bunny cometh."

The Smiths and the Blooms attend service at St. Cecilia this morning together with Roderick, Molly, Anna and Megan. After the service, they all walk over to the Old Ivy Inn for brunch. Roderick sits next to his Dad at the big round table near the fireplace.

"How've you been?" inquires Mr. Smith of his son.

"Very busy," says Roderick. "I can hardly recall anything for the past two weeks. It's kind of a blur."

Brunch is delicious, except there is no scrapple since the Old Ivy Inn respects the "Hash for Lent" practice.

At two o'clock there is a special event on campus, the opening of the annual student show at the art gallery. Natasha has top placement this year on the strength of her "Molly" pictures. There is a small crowd gathered outside the doors of the gallery already when the Smiths, Blooms and company arrive. Roderick and Molly mingle; Mary Bloom sizes the crowd for potential tricks; Margaret does Soduku in her head. Catherine steps to the side, removes Mr. Fuzzums from her backpack and introduces him to the joy of sliding down a snow bank on his butt.

The doors open, and the crowd surges into the gallery.

Natasha's entries are immediately visible to visitors as they enter. There is the large painting of Molly with Megan's sex toy, plus a number of new sketches of Molly in seemingly post-coital postures. The crowd, however, seems most interested in the monumental work at the center of the exhibit, the one known simply as Molly's Ladyparts.

Mr. Bloom is impressed. He takes Molly aside. "Glad to see that you're finally putting out," he whispers.

"It's all in Natasha's imagination," says Molly.

Mary studies Molly's Ladyparts, then tugs on Molly's arm. "You should consider waxing," she says. "I go to Diva's Vijayjay Studio in Stapleton."

Natasha sees Roderick studying the sketches. She fishes for a compliment: "What do you think?"

"Nice renderings," says Roderick. "You capture her buttocks nicely. But the handcuffs seem a little over the top, don't you think?"

Natasha smiles pleasantly and moves on. What a philistine, she thinks.

That evening, Molly snuggles with Roderick. "I'm thinking that we should go ahead and 'do it'," she murmurs. "The entire campus seems to think I've been 'doing it' in spades."

"True," says Roderick. "But we have two years and a couple of months before the mandatory 'do it before you're twenty-one' rule kicks in, so no hurry."

Back in Beauneville, Mary Bloom lies awake in her bed and thinks about college; she looks forward to it. The market for her services is a bit small here in Beauneville. Mr. Bloom is a big help, of course, with his client referrals, but what girl wants to rely on her father for pimping? No, Mary wants the freedom of a big city.

"Lake City, here I come," she whispers aloud.

Megan Thinks Anna Is Interesting

Today is Reminiscere, the second Sunday in Lent. There are five Sundays between the inception of Lent and Palm Sunday: Invocavit, Reminiscere, Oculi, Laetare and Judica. The names come from the first word in the traditional Introit for each day. There is no cantata today, respecting the practice in Leipzig when J.S.Bach served there.

Miss Flemm of the Religious Studies Department delivers today's inspirational message. She speaks on the importance of the Easter Bunny in our lives, and offers the hopeful message that the Easter Bunny will soon arrive.

Mr. Mendelssohn has returned from sunny Florida. The Bach Chorale has no cantati to sing for the next several weeks, but is not idle. Each year, the Chorale joins forces with the Chamber Orchestra to present one of Bach's great Passions on Good Friday; this year, they will perform Bach's Passion According to St. Matthew. There is no clarinet part in the orchestra, so Roderick will sing in the Chorale.

"We're working on a Passion," says Roderick at dinner on Sunday. He sits with Molly, Megan and Anna.

"I like passion," says Megan.

"It's not that kind of passion."

Megan frowns. "There's more than one kind of passion?"

"Apparently so. This is a work of religious faith."

"Yes, I guess that is different. I usually think of passion as sexual desire, like when one of the characters I write about begs her lover to tie her to the four-paster bed and spank her bare buttocks."

Now Molly looks puzzled. "They beg for what?" Molly, it seems, has never read one of Megan's novels.

"Well, sometimes they beg to be spanked, and other times they just beg to be tied up."

"And that is an example of sexual desire?"

"For my characters it is. Of course, it's just fiction. I wouldn't dream of doing such things myself."

"I would." Everyone turns to stare at beautiful, demure Anna, who has just disclosed something interesting about herself. She blushes.

Molly's jaw drops. "Really...?"

"Well, not all the time, but..."

Megan thinks that Anna is much more interesting than she thought, and makes a mental note to spend more time with her.

Meat Is An Aphrodisiac

Today is Invocavit, the first Sunday in Lent. Following the custom at the Thomaskirche in Leipzig during J.S.Bach's tenure, no cantatas are performed during Lent. Mr. Mendelssohn and Mr. Throb take the opportunity to hightail it off to warmer climes for a couple of weeks. Mr. Lustgarden of the History department offers today's inspirational message.

"Good morning. I've pretty much lifted today's message from Wikipedia, from which I shall now read:

Fasting during Lent was more severe in ancient times than today. Socrates Scholasticus reports that in some places, all animal products were strictly forbidden, while others will permit fish, others permit fish and fowl, others prohibit fruit and eggs, and still others eat only bread. In some places, the observant abstained from food for an entire day; others took only one meal each day, while others abstained from all food until mid-afternoon. In most places, however, the practice was to abstain from eating until the evening, when a small meal without vegetables or alcohol was eaten."

He pauses. "We do without scrapple, and the hash is more potato than meat." He continues to read:

"During the early Middle Ages, meat, eggs and dairy products were generally forbidden. Thomas Aquinas argued that "they afford greater pleasure as food [than fish], and greater nourishment to the human body, so that from their consumption there results a greater surplus available for seminal matter, which when abundant becomes a great incentive to lust."

He pauses again, and winks at the audience. "Hear that folks? Meat is an aphrodisiac."

"However, dispensations for dairy products were given, frequently for a donation, from which several churches are popularly believed to have been built, including the "Butter Tower" of the Rouen Cathedral. In Spain, the bull of the Holy Crusade (renewed periodically after 1492) allowed the consumption of dairy products and eggs during Lent in exchange for a contribution to the conflict."

He looks around. "Now that's a racket. 'Dude, you want a pat of butter on your toast. You have to pay the Man'."

Continuing...

"Giraldus Cambrensis in his Itinerary of Archbishop Baldwin through Wales reports that 'in Germany and the arctic regions, great and religious persons eat the tail of beavers as "fish" because of its superficial resemblance to both the taste and colour of fish.' The animal was also very abundant in Wales at the time.

Mr. Lustgarten chuckles. "So it's not just me that thinks beaver smells like fish." There are scattered chuckles from the audience.

"In current Western societies the practice is considerably relaxed, though in the Eastern Orthodox, Oriental Orthodox and Eastern Catholic Churches abstinence from all animal products including fish, eggs, fowl and milk sourced from animals (e.g. goats and cows as opposed to the milk of soy beans and coconuts) is still commonly practiced, meaning only vegetarian (vegan) meals are consumed in many Eastern countries[which?] for the entire fifty-five days of their Lent. In the Roman Catholic Church for the duration of Lent, on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday it is required to eat less than is customary for the day, with no meat, eating only one full meal and two small meals also totalling less than a full meal.
Pursuant to Canon 1253, days of fasting and abstinence are set by the national Episcopal Conference. Parallel to the fasting laws are the laws of abstinence. These bind those over the age of fourteen. On days of abstinence, the person must not eat meat or poultry. According to canon law, all Fridays of the year, Ash Wednesday and several other days are days of abstinence, though in most countries, the strict requirements for abstinence have been limited by the bishops (in accordance with Canon 1253) to the Fridays of Lent and Ash Wednesday. On other abstinence days, the faithful are invited to perform some other act of penance."

Roderick whispers to Molly: "This is more complicated than the Tax Code."

Molly nods and whispers back: "In the Church of Nothing, the rule is 'Relax and go easy on yourself, because you matter."

Mr. Lustgarden continues:

"Exceptions to abstinence on Fridays during the Lenten Season can occur through the dispensation of a particular bishop. For example, in the United States in areas where the diocesan patron is St. Patrick (as in the Archdiocese of New York) or where many Catholics share an Irish heritage (as in Boston), if St. Patrick's Day (March 17) falls on a Friday, the local bishop can grant a dispensation to all Catholics of the diocese from abstinence. (Approximately one third of all Catholic dioceses in the United States grant such a dispensation.) More universally, this occurs on the solemnities of St. Joseph and the Annunciation, which are always 19 and 25 March respectively. If the solemnities (19 March or 25 March), although not Holy Days of Obligation, fall on a Friday during Lent then the obligation to abstain is abrogated. Similarly, during those two solemnities, the faithful may temporarily partake of anything they gave up for Lent, unless they were trying to give up a habitual sin as their Lenten offering- which is not uncommon."

He pauses. "So it's important to remember that if you want to party during Lent it helps if you are part of an organized ethnic group."

"Contemporary legislation is rooted in the 1966 Apostolic Constitution of Pope Paul VI, Paenitemini. He recommended that fasting be appropriate to the local economic situation, and that all Catholics voluntarily fast and abstain. He also allowed that fasting and abstinence might be substituted with prayer and works of charity in nations with a lower standard of living. Traditionally, on Easter Sunday, Roman Catholics may cease their fasting and start again whatever they gave up for Lent, after they attend Mass on Easter Sunday. Orthodox Christians break their fast after the Paschal Vigil (a service which starts around 11:00 pm on Holy Saturday), which includes the Paschal celebration of the Divine Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom. At the end of the service, the priest blesses eggs, cheese, flesh meats and other items that the faithful have been abstaining from for the duration of Great Lent."

Solemnly, he places the iPhone from which he read on the altar. "And so, I shall summarize. Meat is an aphrodisiac, so give it up during Lent since parties are verboten unless you're Irish or donate a building."

He sits, and Mr. Pipes strikes up a pensive recessional.

Natasha Has No Idea

During the Lenten season, scrapple is not served in the Dining Hall at Old Ivy. Instead, the breakfast meat is hash in various permutations: corned beef hash, roast beef hash, red flannel hash and so forth.

Thus, the first day of Lent is Hash Wednesday.

Roderick feels that to eschew scrapple in favor of hash is to understand the true meaning of suffering.

Scrapple was not served in the court of Franz Joseph; Roderick learned this from his book of Austro-Hungarian trivia. At meals, protocol demanded that the Emperor was served first, and also that everyone must stop eating when the Emperor finished eating; since the Emperor ate quickly, plates placed before junior officers at the foot of the table would be immediately whisked away. Hence, the expression "lunch with the Emperor" came to mean no lunch at all.

"Let's sit down and have a conversation" says Natasha, to Roderick, by which she means "sit there and listen while I talk about me."

"Heh," says Roderick. "Sounds like 'lunch with the Emperor'." His wit makes him smile.

Natasha has no clue what he's talking about.

Does She...Or Doesn't She?

It's Friday of an interesting week.

The Vienna Ball was fun, but Roderick wishes they hadn't stopped doing the toast to the Emperor; he is interested in all things kaiserlich und königlich.

"Did you know," says Roderick at breakfast, "that from 1867 to 1918, the Habsburg monarch reigned simultaneously as the Emperor of Austria and as the King of Hungary, while the two territories were joined in a real union (akin to a two-state federation in this instance). The acts of the common government, which only was responsible for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the Ministry of War and the Ministry of Finance (financing only the two other ministries), were carried out in the name of 'His Imperial and Royal Majesty' and the central governmental bodies had their names prefixed with k. u. k.?"

Molly chews on some toast. "No," she says; "I had no idea."

Roderick holds up a book. "It says so right here in Interesting Things About Austria-Hungary. I found it in the Library."

He reads on:

Prior to 1867, the collection of territories under the control of the Habsburg monarch in Vienna used kaiserlich und königlich or the hyphenated kaiserlich-königlich interchangeably. Neither of the spellings defined a hierarchy among the Habsburg dynastic kingdoms, principalities, duchies, and other bodies politic.

The Habsburg monarchs ruled the kingdoms of Hungary, Croatia and Bohemia as their Kings. The title Emperor applied to their role as heads of the conglomerate of the mostly German states called the Holy Roman Empire until 1806. The same title, Emperor, came to identify their role as rulers of the newly named Austrian Empire that the Habsburgs ruled from 1804.

After the Austro-Hungarian Compromise of 1867, the Hungarians insisted on the und ("and"), not the hyphen, in all usage in line with the new autonomous status of the kingdom within the Habsburg lands. Use of the phrase "Kaiserlich und königlich" was decreed in a letter written by the Emperor on October 17, 1889 for the military, the navy and the institutions shared by the both parts of the empire.

Subsequently, the abbreviation k.k. did only refer to the institutions of the "Austrian" part of Austria-Hungary (Cisleithania.) The abbreviation m.k. (Hungarian: magyar királyi), or kgl. ung. (German: königlich ungarisch), both meaning "Royal Hungarian", was applied in reference to the governmental bodies of the Kingdom of Hungary (Transleithania.)

In official documents, the abbreviation used provides information on the lands targeted:

-- k.k. or k.-k., meaning "imperial (Austria) – royal (Bohemia)", pertains to the Austrian Empire before 1867 and to the Austrian part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire 1867–1918

-- k.u.k., meaning "imperial (Austria) and royal (Hungary)", pertains to the Austro-Hungarian Empire 1867–1918

"All that fuss and bother over the word und," says Molly.

"Hungarians are sticklers," says Roderick. "I hear that Buda and Pest are still at odds. It's pretty much a forced marriage."

"What happened from 1867 to 1889, when the Emperor decreed use of the word und?"

"I'm not sure. I'm guessing that Austrians sometimes forgot the und, while Hungarians fumed."

Roderick shows Molly the Valentine from Emily. Molly shrugs.

"That picture's all over the place. I think she's posting it on bulletin boards."

On the way to Logic class, Roderick checks the bulletin boards. Sure enough, Emily's lady parts are on display everywhere, leaving no doubt concerning the question: does she wax, or doesn't she? Unlike Megan, Emily most certainly does.