Death, where is your sting?

I don't know about y'all, but to me, hearing a soulful black woman belt out gospel songs is pretty moving. You know the kind I'm talking about - the songs that get underneath your skin and give you the chills. This morning there was some song - never heard it before, but it was beautiful. Oh death, where is your sting? He is risen. Happy Easter.

Larry's doesn't really eat candy, so making his Easter basket is always tricky. This year I went with charcoal and lighter fluid. Here he is with his man-basket:

I got lots of peeps, almond joy and those chocolate covered marshmallow eggs that I love. The Easter Bunny also brought me a bright pink Adirondack patio chair so that I'll always have a place to sit.

I did brush my hair before church, so I'm not sure why I look like a ragamuffin, but whatever.
Weenie got some rawhides, bad breath bones and a new Easter dress:


Now we will watch the Masters (yawn) and maybe Sarah and Dale and Cooper will come over and have some fajita taco salad with us. I may not be hungry, as I've already polished off a row of pink peeps.

Hope your day is just as perfect.