Oestrus

Happy oestre! The name of the festival echoes from the pagan fertility celebration in springtime. Having been raised a heathen I have trouble remembering if we're supposedly marking Jesus' death or his rising from the dead. Heathen kiddos not much better informed than I. I've recently been re-reading Duncan's 'The Calendar' and Arnold Toynbee's 'Mankind and Mother Earth', reminding me of the tumultuous historical and ecclesiastic schisms over the precise date of Easter. What's stuck in my memory is that all the Christian Easters are calculated specifically not to fall on Passover. We don't want any overlap with those Jews, above all.

My folks didn't have a Passover seder this year, as sometimes in the past. Both are increasingly involved in our local Liberal synagogue, where my mum is accepted despite being gentile and atheist. There is no Liberal synagogue building in Edinburgh, so they often have gatherings in the Unitarian church on Castle Terrace. Dad fell out with the Orthodox synagogue when they refused to accept my sister into the fold, being born of a shiksa. As he ages (gently and youthfully) his cultural Judaism has become more important to him. When he was very ill, I worried excessively about who would say kaddish and sit shiva for him. Without a drop of Hebraic blood in my veins, it will be me who does these when the time comes. Let it be a long time. Judaism of the flavour I've been exposed to involves memory and limited observation, but you don't even really have to believe in G*d. Dad doesn't keep kosher (he loves his shellfish), but my kiddos have both had the pleasure of seders with the full prayers, leaning to the right, 'next year in Jerusalem' and finding the afikonen. They may have some Jewish blood from their dad's side, according to their family history, as well as a pirate executed and sent home to Leith in a pickling barrel.

Kiddos currently away with their dad's clan to roll decorated hard-boiled eggs down the slopes of a park- a charming tradition. This is supposed to have something to do with rolling away the stone of Jesus' tomb, but I prefer to note the reproductive aspects of the eggs. Egg-rolling always used to take place at the Braids golf-course, but 2 years of hassle from golfers have necessitated a change of venue. The seagulls have a field day with the smashed eggs, and can be quite menacing when they swoop down for the leavings. Given that Easter's date is so changeable, I wonder how they know that it's a feast day, and if they look forward to it, the heathen cannibals.

After dropping kiddos off, I had a long walk with Jake and my mum down the Hermitage. Jake is quite a naughty dog and scavenges from bins and people without any sense of shame, and relentless cheerfulness. As advertised in the dog rescue website, he is indeed 'all dog'. The rhodies are getting close to flowering now. Mum had to listen to a lot of rambling and expressed emotion about the new jobbie and the family mediation, but it was helpful for me to put words to some of these stressful events. She says I am slightly loopier than usual, but not off the edge yet. I certainly feel better grounded after food, sleep, kiddos, walkies and venting. Next week's shifts only total 27 hrs, which is a scoosh compared to last week. The family mediation will hopefully be more pleasant next week, but is booked for a time when I'll have been 22 hrs without sleep and not necessarily 'myself'. I have genuine sympathy for kiddos' dad in dealing with me in that place and time, but these meetings are at his request. Someday I will write up how the wee wan's purchase of a chocolate muffin on the way to school became a child neglect issue, but not now.