The kitchen smelled of a mixture of boiling eggs and
vinegar.
Individual cups of hot colored liquid were arranged in a
line
on the counter along
with wire dippers and egg holders.
Some of the eggs were dipped in a single color.
Others were dipped with one half one color
and the other half a
different shade.
There were some lucky eggs that got a bath in an oily
mixture of rainbow
colors that when dry,
were shiny and bold.
When the eggs were still very warm from boiling,
we took a waxy crayon
and neatly printed
the names of family
members on the shells.
When these eggs were dipped in darker colors, the
waxed names did not
take the dye, so the names
were plain to see.
There were also some little decals which when held against
a warm eggshell,
would transfer little shapes
and motifs to add a
festive touch.
The last egg was always dipped in every color cup
and turned out a
horrible shade of drab purple.
But as sure as the black jellybeans were the last to be
eaten
that last ugly egg
was tradition.
On Saturday night before Easter, I visited the closet in
my bedroom quite
often. There, on a hanger, hung my
new dress! Sometimes that dress was ruffled with a big
bow.
Sometimes it was more tailored.
But no matter what the dress was like,
on the floor just
below the dress was a brand new pair of
shiny white patent
leather shoes.
They had deliciously slippery soles and
satiny linings. I loved those shoes, right down to the
little golden buckles
that fastened the single straps.
In one of my dresser drawers, neatly folded and ready
for a little girl to
slip into, was a new slip, very special
unmentionables and a
brand new pair
of white socks with
ruffled tops.
When I’d had a growth spurt since the last Easter, there
would be a new spring
coat in the closet down stairs
and there was always
a little Easter bonnet to top off the
whole ensemble.
On Easter morning, I would run downstairs to find
baskets crammed full
of colored eggs, jelly beans, chocolate
rabbits, “Peeps”, and
somewhere in the explosion
baskets and ribbons
was always a
little stuffed rabbit
in a sweet pastel color.
After the baskets were appropriately sorted through by
little
fingers, it would be
time to get ready for church. Once in my
Easter finery, I would run next door to show my
grandparents.
Then the five of us would head for church.
Sometimes, my grandfather and I would walk to the
church. An only
grandchild, he took
great pleasure in escorting me though
the little town,
showing me off in my new duds to
neighbors who always
made the “fuss” he expected.
My grandmother always wore a new hat on Easter. I couldn’t
wait until I was old
enough to wear one of her big hats.
Funny though, how when I was old enough, those wonderful
show pieces were out
of style. In my heart though, they
will forever be chic.
Dad and Grandpa wore suits and sported new shirts and
ties. My mother and grandmother always dressed
in pretty outfits
too, but one in particular stands out
in my mind, and that
was of my mother’s new
“Walking Suit”.
She was stunning in that suit. She was stunning in everything
but that suit was
something very special.
Our little family always sat in the same pew each
Sunday. It
seemed that everyone
knew who sat where and it was rare,
even on Easter when
the church was packed to the rafters,
that a family’s usual
seat was taken. I can’t recall a time
when we didn’t sit
fifth row, middle section.
Dinner after Easter services was almost always at Grandma
and Grandpa’s
house. The ham would be delicious and
my dad and
grandfather had contests to see who could
eat the most. Dad could usually out-eat Grandpa on
those occasions, but
it was normally a photo-finish.
The rest of the day would be spent quietly at home.
Sometimes friends
dropped by. The evening meal was cold cuts or left over
ham in sandwiches and
of course, hard boiled eggs.
If we had supper at grandma and grandpa’s on Easter, she
served
the cold cuts and
relishes on a big round tray so that
we could help
ourselves. This was a break from
the more formal
dinner settings at my grandmother’s house.
Easter finery, chocolate rabbits without ears and
ladies in big hats
always bring back fond memories
of Easter gone by.
I still can’t pass a stuffed rabbit without stopping to hug
it.