STRANGER THAN FICTION: HAS ANYONE SEEN THE CABURY BUNNY?

Tomorrow is Easter, when The Other Half and his family will gather around the pot of chicken and dumplins -- almost sacrilegious to eat chicken on Easter, isn't it? -- and talk about stock-car racing.

Even though my in-laws will think I'm just avoiding them, I'll be here at the office, attempting to come up with a story and interviewing people at home on a holiday. It's this kind of behavior that makes reporters such loved and honored creatures.

Call me if you have any ideas.

For me, the only good thing about Eastertime is the candy. Candy-wise, Easter is the best holiday around. Christmas, the other biggie, has candy canes and fruitcake, which people eat out of loyalty but don't really like. Easter has jelly beans, marshmallow chicks and chocolate bunnies -- everything one needs to be happy.

And, of course, the Cadbury Bunny comes for her yearly delivery of fat, sugar and empty calories to your local discount department stores.

She's the rabbit I love to hate. At the first signs of spring -- the jonquils blooming, the birds chirping -- I go to Wal-Mart like some kind of egg junkie, looking for the Cadbury eggs that survived birth without getting their yolks crushed out.

I rush up to the cash register with my lone egg and a quarter dug out of the laundry fund. The foil over the egg never scans right, so the cashier finally asks me how much it is. I say 20 cents because I only have a quarter. Sales tax, you know. Works every time.

My other big addiction is Peeps, which can be eaten three or four at a time by a true junkie.

Easter candy probably means a lot more to me than other people, because I've only been able to enjoy it for the past several years.

When I was a kid, Mom and Dad didn't celebrate Easter. They taught me that the holiday was originally established to worship Eastre, the pagan goddess of spring and fertility. If you don't believe me, look it up in your Funk & Wagnalls.

They also taught me the ancient origins of many other holidays, so you can imagine what a popular second-grader I was... .

Teacher: Heidi, why aren't you coloring your Easter bunny picture?

Me: Because Mommy doesn't want me to.

Teacher: Why not?

Me: Because pagans used rabbits to represent fertility, and coloring this bunny means worshiping sex.

Teacher: So, how 'bout them Cardinals?

I think conversations like those are why I'm warped today.

Mr. Half has better childhood Easter memories. His family used to dye eggs and hide them. Some eggs were never found until some unfortunate child stepped on them three months later.

Maybe that's not a good memory.

People don't think much about where Easter comes from these days. Over the years, I've developed my own philosophy. Here it is:

Holidays are what you make of them, whether it's a time to gather with family, give gifts or study your relationship with God.

'Nuff said.

Heidi Nieland is staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.