Fuzzy Bunny goes home…

I wrote about my oldest son, Noah, and his Fuzzy Bunny a few weeks ago when he asked if I still had him.

Fuzzy Bunny was Noah’s favorite stuffed animal from when he was a baby until he grew up. Fuzzy Bunny went everywhere with us. Did I still have him? Of course, I did.

He’s been sitting on a shelf ever since Noah moved out. Sometimes, when I passed him, I would get mushy and think he was like Buzz and Woody in Toy Story when Andy grew up.

When I gave him to Noah yesterday, on Easter Sunday, it made my heart melt; it was one of those things that made this mama’s heart so full and happy. 

Our Easter holiday turned out differently than I planned, but I can pivot on a dime at this point in my life. 

Marty helped our friends who own the Arlington Inn and our buddy Chef Martin with an Easter Brunch. The brunch was a wonderful feast of exquisite food on the buffet menu. 

The team outdid themselves and worked together like they have for decades, not just a few times over the last year. The best part is they have a blast doing it. I got some of the leftovers, so I was a happy girl.

Of course, this canceled my planned Easter dinner menu but turned it into a lovely brunch for Noah, Aja, and me. We had a wonderful time together, talking a lot and enjoying brunch ourselves.

I made a crumb-bun French toast casserole, a cold asparagus salad with a sweet lemon vinaigrette, shrimp cocktail, maple bacon, and Bloody Marys for Aja and me. I also made a pizza gaina, a tradition since childhood. 

It’s an Italian Easter pie from southern Italy dating back centuries. It was intended to be the ultimate reward for fasting during the Lenten season. It is filled with ricotta, mozzarella, and provolone cheese.

It’s also stuffed with Italian meats, such as capicola, salami, mortadella, and pepperoni, which I forgot about this time. 

It’s eaten cold or at room temperature and is a familiar, flavorful Easter food memory from my childhood. I love making it as much as I love eating it.

Growing up in an Italian neighborhood, everyone bought or made pizza gaina every Easter. After we moved to Iselin, NJ, my parents would order a portion of pizza gaina from a small Italian market called Mistretta’s. 

I would walk down two blocks to Oak Tree Road and pick ours up. I remember it was still warm and how wonderful it smelled. It tasted the same as the ones we had in Elizabeth.

It’s usually made by people on Good Friday, which is a real temptation when fasting and not eating meat in the Catholic religion on Fridays, especially the tragic Friday. I’m sure millions of rosaries have been said whenever people were making this staple dish.

Even though I don’t practice the Catholic religion anymore, I realized it’s my nostalgic Holy Week memories that make me want not to eat meat on Fridays, especially the big one.

I succeeded in not eating any of the fillings but completely forgot about it when I made scallops for dinner. 

I made pan-seared scallops topped with bacon and lemon. I tasted the scallops and pasta. It was so delicious; halfway through the meal, I said, “Oh shit! I forgot about the bacon.” Oh, well, I tried.

I immediately remembered my belief that man-made religious rules no longer mattered to me. It’s all bullshit. Telling my sins to another sinner was the first thing I questioned as I grew older. I could tell God my sins without some middleman involved.

For example, why can the Pope excuse or permit people from eating meat when St. Patrick’s Day falls on a Friday during Lent? Why?

Well, because he’s the Pope, that’s why. Hang on a second. Honestly, I am not being disrespectful in any way, and everyone has a right to their beliefs, but in all reality, who is he? He is a man not without sin like the rest of us.

Every human is a sinner. He is a regular man, not God or Christ himself, who can allow people to break a rule in Catholicism.

That said, I won’t go straight to hell for eating bacon or that hotdog, I was told as a kid. Furthermore, I don’t have to say 10 Hail Marys and 5 Our Fathers for “sinning.”

I am sure all the other religions people who eat meat on Fridays don’t burn in hell, especially if they don’t know about any such rule.

In Catholicism, rules were meant to make people choose what pleasures they would give up as a sacrifice to show God their love. Love. That’s what it’s all about. We are all one with God with or without confessions to a priest and punishments in the form of memorized prayers.

This Easter, I was able to let some good childhood memories flood back in. This was my first year without a heart full of pain, anger, sadness, disappointment, and being a victim of abuse for decades.

It felt so wonderful that I can’t even explain it to anyone. By finally forgiving my mother a few weeks ago has made my heart softer, if that makes sense.

It feels like a teeny tiny piece of enlightenment I experienced when I was 9 years old. Oddly enough, I was thinking about God’s love when it happened in school that day.

Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of energy work on myself and working with the other side, helping many lost souls cross over and go home just like Fuzzy Bunny did. 

After Noah and Aja left, I sat down and drew Fuzzy Bunny; how I will remember him.

These last few weeks have been the calmest, safest, and most peaceful I have ever felt. Last week was truly a Holy Week for me and my close spiritual relationship with our creator.