Maybe this is not a suitable thought for Holy Saturday, but I am among those who believe that Peeps, those wonderfully slightly stale sugar coated marshmallow chicks, are more essential to the secular celebration of Easter than eggs in baskets. The problem is that, according to the resident health and nutrition police, they’re not allowed in our house. With grandchildren too far away to corrupt under the noses of their parents what am I to do? Maybe I’ll take some to Grace on Sunday morning and see if there are any other aficionados there. In any case I’ll have to think of some errand that has to be done in order to sneak off to K-Mart to buy a package and then hide it in the back seat. The resident health and nutrition police has discovered most of my hiding places in the house.