This year, as it happens every once in a while, the “Western” (Catholic and Protestant) Easter and the Orthodox Easter coincide, and so do – by extension – Palm Sunday and Tsvetnitsa, respectively, both of which happened to be today.
And, as far as I’m concerned, there was no better way to spend the day than by walking around Rochester’s Park Avenue area, where – luckily for me – spring has spring. I even got to see some blooming crocuses/croci. What an ugly name for such a beautiful flower, although I have to admit that the Bulgarian минзухар (pronounced meen-zoo-har) is no feast for the ears either.
Speaking of feasts, while thinking of a title for this post, I came across an explanation of why Hemingway’s posthumously published memoir was called A Moveable Feast (the term is originally used to describe Christian holidays that don’t take place on the same date every year, such as Easter and Palm Sunday). The title was apparently suggested by A. E. Hotchner, who supposedly remembered a conversation, in which Hemingway said, “If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.”
I like this idea of carrying past experiences around like a moveable feast, and my time in the States somehow feels like that to me.