In Which I Critique Yard Art And A Manifestation Of Jesus

 

From UncommonGoods.com, and I approve of these.

Is it Spring yet where you are? And how the heck are you? I'm pleased--no, make that ecstatic--to say that we've finally reached the point in NEO that grass has been mowed, and I've picked my own daffodils right from my yard. Some magnolias are blooming, those ubiquitous (and in many states, outlawed) Bradford pear trees are all in full blossom, and so are the redbuds. Tulips also abound (only red and yellow ones; the squirrels have eaten all the rest, including all of mine), and today I saw a big fat bumblebee, what we used to generically call Queen Bees, buzzing loudly around the patio. Yes, my patio furniture is out, and my front porch furniture is not far behind. Bird song begins before daybreak now, and robins and starlings have begun collecting things for their nests. I may let Rick put the last sn*w shovel away next week, tempting both Fate and the Weather Gods.

Easter was at our house, and it was deliciously catered by Jared and Jordan, who made the meal at home and transported it here. Earlier, I had confessed that, while I was happy to have everyone over, I didn't feel much like cooking a big dinner. They immediately offered and I accepted, not feeling nearly as much guilt as I thought I would. I supplied two desserts, both purchased, and I didn't feel guilty about that at all. 

One would think that Easter, being a more sedate holiday, would not inspire a great deal of outdoor decoration beyond maybe some plastic eggs hanging from a bush or tree. Even a door wreath with coloured eggs is not very wise since Easter is not, per se, a season, but rather maybe a week. 

One would be wrong. 

Consider this display that we saw on the main street of a town we pass through on our way to the lakehouse. I made Rick pull over to get the photo because I was so flabbergasted and shocked.

  An inflatable Jesus. AND an inflatable tomb/large stone. I do hope I was the only one of all of you to ever see this. I want so desperately to tell you that this is...oh, I don't know...an isolated incident. A singular novelty item that was, perhaps, specially ordered. Sadly, I cannot. After typing inflatable Jesus into Google, I was overwhelmed with a multitude of Inflatable Jesuses (Jesi?). There was even a 6-foot Inflatable Jesus Waver on offer. I have, in the earlier days of this blog, explored a more modern take on Jesuses/Jesi in film, thinking that I was being perhaps a bit edgy and maybe even wandering into Offensive territory. Ha ha, it is to laugh. That was nothing compared to Jesus Inflatables. I do suppose it's quite a dramatic and inspiring sight, however, to inflate him and watch him...er...resurrect, right there on your own lawn.

That I think inflatables are terrible is not new. I've even said that the deflated ones--during the day! what, do they think we can't see them?--look like huge discarded condoms. I wonder what Sister Marguerite and Father Wanner, my childhood Catholic nemeses, would think of Inflatable Jesus. I'm thinking they couldn't find a pin big enough to Take Care Of Business.

This Easter inflatable, just around the corner from my home, seems subtle and demure by comparison. I quite like it, for an inflatable, and I'm sure you'll be able to see why:

Look how cute that little cow is, so chipper and childlike, holding his Easter egg and wearing his bunny ears! Easter For Cows! I'm in, and I think that Easter Cow is way better than Inflatable Jesus or even a straight up Easter Bunny.

Not that I'm endorsing Yard Inflatables. Come on.

Finally, this sign perplexed me for years, and I am not kidding. As a six-year student of French, I struggled to understand exactly what the point/meaning of it was. I just didn't get it.

 

In French the word tres means very. No Very Pooping? What?! Even if you translate it to Spanish, where tres means three. No Three Pooping? Still doesn't make sense. Finally, earlier this week, I finally got it. It's a play on the word Trespassing! As in, No Trespassing/No Trespooping. It's all one word. After the first flush of triumph wore off, I was irritated. It's just a stupid attempt to be clever, and the kerning is terrible. I hope all kinds of animals poop in their yard. So there! And I don't feel dumb at all. (Did you get it right away? I hope I'm not the only one who was mystified.)

Happy Spring even if it hasn't quite reached you yet. And may your neighbourhoods be blessed with tasteful Yard Art.