|Ruth and Stacey at Two Writing Teachers|
host the Slice of Life every Tuesday.
When I was younger, Easter was probably my favorite holiday. My mother dressed us up in matching dresses and sweaters that she knit for us. I always got a new "Easter bonnet" and the day was filled with fun and family.
For us, the easter basket hunt began as soon as we woke up. Would it be in the refrigerator? the stove? the cabinet? maybe my closet? My sister and I hunted for the baskets and inevitably I would find hers before I found mine. Since I was five years older, mine was always a little more difficult to find.
My Easter basket was always a fun discovery. My mother did not want us to just gorge ourselves on candy. While there were always our favorites in the basket, most of the basket was filled with small presents. The Easter bunny was very literate and I always got a few books that I had been asking for in my basket. Aside from this, we usually got some socks, maybe a scarf or necklace, and some sort of cute little puzzle game.
After the Easter baskets were found, and sufficient time was spent exploring the treasures found there, it was time to get all dolled up for Easter Sunday church services. This was one of the few Sundays a year that my father came to church with us. I always felt so proud of my family. We were all dressed up and looking quite spiffy. The church service was always so festive with the music joyful. Sometimes, we also had the treat of having my grandparents, my father's parents, visiting. This was quite possibly my favorite church-going experience every year (a close second would be midnight mass on Christmas Eve).
Then, it was time to go home to Easter dinner. We had ham and cheesy potatoes every year for sure. Easter was also one of the few times in the year that I was allowed to have hard-boiled eggs. My father had heart problems and had been placed on a strict low-cholesterol diet. This meant very few eggs in our household---or at least few egg yolks. I loved that we had our colored eggs to eat during this holiday and I savored the egg-salad sandwiches that we enjoyed for a few days after.
One of the things I miss the most about before my father died is the way holidays felt for us. Yes, we still celebrate and try to have some fun, but it just isn't the same. I know this would have changed naturally as we became adults and moved on to celebrate with our own families, but I miss that feeling of special family time.