Easter at our house is a grand event and not just because the Lord has risen. All of HH’s family (anywhere from twenty-eight to forty-three people) and my little one (two or three) descend upon our house bearing food and candy-filled plastic eggs; except Grandpa, who places money in his. The tradition began years ago when our child, Ashley, now thirty-one, was our only one.
We start the day with church. Then, we run home, usually stopping at the store for last minute items on the way; we set up the remaining tables; put out what’s left of the Easter decorations; and make last minute food. We pause, take a deep breath and the doorbell rings.
Last night, after everyone left, we announced to the kids that they could stay home from school today. Normally, since they attend Catholic schools, we get Easter Monday off, but this year, due to the ice storm, they didn’t. They are tired. Their cousins are in town. I am still in my pajamas, and I don’t feel lazy at all.
We do all the usual things and eat all the traditional Midwest dishes, except lamb. No one wants lamb. Instead, we have deviled eggs, ham, brisket, asparagus, and potato salad. A delicious Greek salad was added this year brought by my sister, Neet’s, boyfriend. We also ate baked beans made with sausage instead of bacon, thanks to my sister-in-law, Sharon. You should try it sometime. They are lip smackin’ good. To balance all this excess, another sister-in-law, Katrina, brought a wonderful, unadorned fruit salad. I’m sure I’ve forgotten other main food, but let’s move on to the desserts. Carrot cake, cupcakes, Fannie Mae fudge, bunny cookies and cherries in the snow. I made a gf cherry pie. There is one piece left, and HH told me this morning, as he kissed me good-bye, that he hid it in the rear confines of the fridge for me.
Easter eggs strategically cover the front yard. We had so many this year we did the hunt twice. Children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews, some so small they are dwarfed by their baskets, break through the front door. Photos from each year show a tapestry of growing children, each one unique and yet, hints of the family tree evident in all. I wish I could show you photos of my children, but I can’t because the FBI says it’s dangerous.
I’m sorry. I even worry about my blogging friends’ children when I see their sweet photos. Although everyone who comments becomes a dear friend, some who visit might not be.
But, Easter is not a time for worries. It’s a time for enjoying the rites of spring, whatever they may be for you. By the way, does anybody know the name of this tiny, narcissus-like flower? I planted it, but I can’t remember.
He is risen. Alleluia! He is risen indeed. This is an old greeting from the early Church, and I think it reflects how we all felt Easter morning. During the Lenten season, we are not allowed to sing the Alleluia, so it was all the more meaningful on Easter when we sang it in nearly every song. Each one of my children turned to me at separate times during the mass. Their eyes smiled as they sang the words. So did mine. I hope your Easter was as blessed as ours. Happy Spring.