This year the day the Internal Revenue Service has us kick in our fair share is April 18, which gives me three extra days for e-figuring and e-filing, and all the while getting inspiration from The Beatles’ song Taxman:

If you drive a car, I’ll tax the street;

If you try to sit, I’ll tax your seat;

If you get too cold, I’ll tax the heat;

If you take a walk, I’ll tax your feet.

Hey, I may as well put together a whole mixtape for filling out our tax return. I could add The Kinks’ Sunny Afternoon. There’s Money by Pink Floyd, Money Money Money by Abba, Money For Nothing by Dire Straits, After Taxes by Johnny Cash, Fortunate Son by Creedence Clearwater Revival, 1040 Blues by Robert Cray. And when all’s said and done, it’s usually me singing along with Warren Zevon to Poor Poor Pitiful Me.

That’s all I can think of at the moment, but I’m sure you can come up with your own list.

All kidding aside, I actually have no issues with paying my income taxes, but like Albert Einstein said about filling out the IRS forms, “This is too difficult for a mathematician. It takes a philosopher.” Luckily it’s all computerized now, so no more hastily filling out the forms and running them down to the post office by 11:59 p.m.

And as sure as I’m sitting here, it seems like every year there’s some guy who says he has figured out the constitution in such a way that to prove you don’t have to pay taxes at all, and will gladly sell you his secret for $19.95 plus…well…tax. And then there’s Henry David Thoreau, who, in 1846, spent a night in jail for refusing to pay his poll tax…for the previous six years. He was against the war with Mexico as well as slavery and it was against his Unitarian beliefs to support either. Turned out his auntie paid his back taxes the next morning.

I’ve gone off before about how it’s great to be living in New Mexico, and in fact, I’ve reason to believe we’re the envy of some of those who don’t. But of course, everything is not lollipops and roses and I’ve heard some call the Land of Enchantment “The Land of Entrapment,” although I’m not really sure exactly what that means.

I do know one thing, there are some clueless people out there in the far reaches of our United States of America who either don’t know or aren’t sure, that New Mexico is one of those aforementioned “States” of America.

This brings us to our history – before Billy the Kid and Geronimo and Elfego Baca, et al. – which predates those émigrés from England (that bunch who settled Jamestown) by a good nine years. Well, maybe the Vikings came over well before that, but if so, the local natives must’ve kicked them out for being blustery and obnoxious before they could put up their longhouses. Who can say?

I don’t know if you’ve seen that 1880s J.E. Smith photograph of an Easter procession leading from the Plaza toward San Miguel Church, but it got me to wondering how many Easter sacraments have been celebrated there. I mean, consider the fact that the Franciscan priests originally founded the mission in 1598 and the church occupies the same spot.

At any rate, today is Maundy Thursday, followed by Good Friday, followed by Holy Saturday, followed by what many refer to as the holiest day of the year, Easter Sunday.

Easter Sunday brings back memories of dressing up in a starched white shirt, pressed trousers, shiny shoes, and a clip-on bow tie. You know…Sunday go to meetin’ clothes. And then the eight of us would march down Main Street – usually in a single file with our mother and father leading the way – to the Presbyterian Church. Following church we had family Easter egg hunts in the backyard; hardboiled eggs we dipped in dye ourselves. That was before Cadbury eggs were invented.

Today, by the way, also marks the end of the 40-day Lenten season, which means whatever you deprived yourself of seven weeks ago, feel free to indulge. Me, I’m thinking Cadbury eggs.

I had good intentions back in February of giving up Facebook for Lent but looks like I’m back on the road to you-know-where. A long time ago I used to have a life until someone said I should open a Facebook account. I’m wishing I didn’t feel compelled to check it more than, say, only once or twice per day. But, as my mother would tell us over and over, “If wishes were horses then beggars would ride.”

Too bad. I’d have a stable full of thoroughbreds by now.