Incense and Insanity

There is a reason why Easter only comes once a year. It is afraid of me. The reason why is because I make roasted lamb for dinner. Lamb on any other day may not seem like such a big deal but on Easter? Let’s count the ways it’s just a tiny bit uncomfortable for me. In every hymn book in America you can find some sort of reference about Jesus being the sacrificial lamb. (Think, “Oh Lamb of God”, "Jesus, the Lion and the Lamb”) Song titles and fragments of songs about the cute, cuddly creature bounce off the corners of my mind as I mix together the ingredients for my homemade marinade. As I fire up my oven, it isn’t long before mouths are watering and we’re inhaling the scent of Bambi meeting his demise in my 20 year old G.E.

As the brown sugar, vinegar, red wine, and ginger bubbled and boiled over the main course, I would be reminded later why this particular Easter seemed to outdo all the others. Easter might be afraid of me, but it sure gained my respect this year. We’ll start with the church service. Normally I provide the special music for Sunday worship. This year I had to hand my torch to a more worthy voice, compliments of my companion of late, Bronchitis. (Come to think of it, maybe this was a blessing in disguise. My song choice was “Worthy is the Lamb”) From Sunday service we’ll move on to meal preparation. I should have known it was a bad idea to wear white without an apron. Score a point for the kitchen demons and grab a clean, non mustard-stained shirt that isn’t white. Here’s where it gets interesting.

The San Jose Sharks are winning and everything is coming together perfectly. Score one for Momma. Two hours later the Sharks are down by one and the meat still has another 30 degrees until we can eat it without threat of disease. By the third hour, everyone is starving, the Sharks are losing by 2 points, and the smell of that dang meat is starting to get nauseating. Finally, it’s time to dig in. While everyone raves about Bambi, I am less than impressed and decide that next year I’ll be serving Porky Pig instead of our beloved Disney character. With the passing of dinner and the hockey game I remind myself that even though it’s another loss, we’re still in the playoffs and the other guys aren’t. I turn my oven up to 425 and prepare for peach pie. The kitchen demons are plotting away…

Suddenly an otherworldly stench fills the air, smoke billows through my living room and I am forced to open every window in the house. As the kitchen demons set up their next play, I carefully remove the broiler pan with charred marinade in the bottom and remind myself that next year I will remember to take it out of the oven before turning up the heat. By now I’m exhausted, high from Bambi fumes and depressed from the pitiful performance of my guys in teal. I can hardly think straight as I stuff the charcoal mixture down the garbage disposal. Nice slap shot from the kitchen demons. It will take another hour to get my sink unclogged, the floor mopped up, and the pipes put back together before we can enjoy my frozen peach pie from Claim Jumpers.

Fast forward 10 hours. I fully believed I was back in this game. I had once again opened every window in the house as the heater blasted and upholstery cleaner covered every inch of carpet and furniture. Wickless candles, carpet spray, and burning incense should do it right? I took the kid and the dog to the park expecting to find the charcoal marinade smell had finally found an escape route. It is now 24 hours later. I have a headache from all the incense, the heater is still blasting charcoal marinade smell, and my carpet and upholstery now reek of generic Febreeze. I can’t get that smell out of my house and the brain fog is jumping on the happy train from various scents in the air. The kitchen demons may be celebrating today but tomorrow I will remind them that I married a pastor and there’s a whole year before Easter comes again. I have plenty of time to plan. Next year’s meal won’t come with a shred of guilt. Bambi will be safe, Jesus will still be glorified properly, and I never liked Porky Pig much anyway. I am so looking forward to Christmas.