It’s not overly original, the mains of this delicious holiday. We do the same candy eggs and chocolate bunnies as the rest of the world and our Easter evening or afternoon family set is chock full of the staples of a big family meal with ham, mashed potatoes and mac and cheese. I mean, we do have the usual bbq chicken and paw paw casserole if your family likes to go old skool Bermudian but that’s pretty much a given for any weekend meal at most Bermudian houses. And the hot cross buns of course, whilst being made with someone’s grandma’s handed down recipe from the first shipwreck on the island,  they are still by no means unique to Bermuda.

However, where we shine as a country is our fishcakes. I mean, you might call it Good Friday but at my house, it’s simply known as the day that breakfast, lunch and dinner meld into one long fishcake pon bun eating festival sporadically interspersed with naps, kites , swizzle and the requisite ice cold 12 noon (on the dot!) Heineken. It’s uniquely Bermudian, not only the recipe and the accompaniments but the tradition in and of itself.

Now, the tradition may have food as its center but the true heart of it is in the collectiveness. It’s in the knowledge that that you are celebrating not only spring and rebirth of the year after what we Bermudians call a long winter (effectively anything colder than 70 for basically longer than two weeks) but also the Easter holiday itself, whether it has a religious or secular meaning for you.

It’s hearing the hummers for the first time this year and not thinking, seriously, do they have to make that noise all day AND all night, and actually smiling instead. It’s watching your cousin try to put his “prize” kite featuring a montage of Bob Marley pictures in tissue up in the air and inevitably watching it bean its way head first into someone’s tree. It’s standing in front of your son flicking his plastic Spiderman kite into the air and yelling at him to run to keep it up and being frustrated by watching him stand there as it falls repeatedly to the ground as apparently he forgot how to speak English or follow directions so you take it away from him, get it up to the end of the string and then tie it to the nearest tree because now you totally deserve another Swizzle…. Wait, just me? Uh huh, you’ve totally been there.

It’s heading to St David’s to watch the annual Go Kart race which coincides with the annual “have to park a mile away and walk in” tradition and immediately followed by the “watch the largest kite in Bermuda not get air… again…” tradition.

But more than that, it’s about inhaling copious well fishcakes made by my mom because I’ve yet to figure how to make them correctly and knowing that I’m one of many Bermudians doing the exact same thing at the same time and feeling the same feeling of family, love and history.

Or is that heartburn…

The post Nothing says Easter like fishcake friday appeared first on RG Magazines.

It happens every year. Summer approaches and as the temperatures rise so does the realization that summer clothes are also approaching. You might think I’m referring to the commonly known and feared bikini season. Hah. You apparently must not have thighs.  No, I’m talking about short sleeves, shorts, even capris (if you obsess about your calves like I do), the list goes on.  For us of the larger than a stick persuasion, bikinis so aren’t the first stress point, more like just the most. In fact, by the time we reach the level of bikini, my stress is nuclear.

This year, however, I determined that I would break the cycle of hope, delusions and that eventual moment when I realise I actually am that lazy. That and that it’s all good since hubby loves me just the way I am. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t mean that sentiment to encourage me to slack on getting fit, but whatev, he really should have been clearer. He says passive encouragement, I say implicit approval of my hard-earned sedentary lifestyle; you say tomato *music notes*… But I digress.

Knowing myself, I figured that just the want to be fit wouldn’t work so I decided instead to throw myself all butt cheeks in and sign up for Bermuda Heroes Weekend/Carnival. Yeah, I totally don’t do anything by halves. Not even, by quarters to be fair. I’m pretty much going for abject failure or DE ABS O’STEEL! No, I don’t have unrealistic expectations, why’d you ask?

Now, you might be wondering how I came up with the obviously fantabulous idea of using the possible end result of abject embarrassment to force myself to break out of my very rarely-ending cycle of keenness and then giving up for another year? Because I’m a masochist, of course!

So here I am with my ”jiggle even when the song ends” syndrome and less than two months. ..

I’m a huge fan of yoga but since I never really get past the deep breathing and neck rolls before I succumb to a well-earned nap or am rudely interrupted by the little monkey who figures that if my lap is near enough to be sat on, it must therefore be sat upon, I’m not sure that will help.

Then there’s barre, which I love. For about a minute until I remember I hate barre. Whereas apparently, it’s the idea of ballet I like more than the actual doing of it. (Totally explains me dropping out at 5 1/2 and then blaming my parents for the next ten years every time I fancied myself a dancer…)

I do like to lift weights but as I have children and a job and my couch really hates to be neglected, joining the gym kinda isn’t in my wheelhouse. Yes, I know I could buy free weights and lift at home but…la la la, I’m not listening to you…

Where was I? AH yes, so what is my plan, you ask? Well, joining my company’s fitness challenge of course. Because having the whole of Bermy see my failure to eradicate probably even a lone fat cell isn’t bad enough, let’s let my whole company witness my inability to, well, fitness.

And then I remembered why I even had the thought of the BHW idea in the first place. I have friends who I adore do it last year. They are more fit than me (obvs this isn’t hard) but they aren’t supermodels. Courageous as they come but not models. And then I also remember seeing the videos from last year and seeing the many shapes and sizes and costumes and I remember not thinking about any of that because I saw the joy and fun in each person’s eyes. I saw the dancing and the camaraderie and I didn’t think, hey, I want to be fit to do this… I thought I want to do this so I can have THAT. Carnival is less about the bodies and much more about the spirit.

And hey, if I do just happen to lose a pound or two getting all fit, well, let’s just consider that a bonus…

The post Are you ready for summer? appeared first on RG Magazines.