"Here comes Peter cotton tail, hopping down the bunny trail- Hippity- hoppity, Easter's on it's way!"
I can remember as a child, singing that song with my brother and my sister,on the Saturday before Easter, while we were closeted in the kitchen, hovering over the table filled with cups and bowls of vinegar smelling colored water, and a big bowl of hard-boiled eggs. we would decorate or write on the eggs with a crayon, and then use a spoon or wire holder to slip eggs into the different colors. Of course, we were making colored easter eggs. Our grandmother, Bama..(she never let us call her grama) would set the whole thing up, and cover the table with newspaper so the table wouldn't be messed up, show us what to do,and then watch over us as we did it. My sister always came out with the most beautiful eggs. She was the oldest,and at that time, the most artistic of all of us.She would do flowers, and names so nicely,and then was able to do stripes of different colors,or do the egg half and half. My brother would get silly and usually would end up with squiggles, and brown or grey eggs, after dumping all of his into every color we had. Mine were always fairly childish and simple. One color for each member of the family. I would write the name as well as I could...but the crayon being invisible to the writer on the egg, I often had big gaps between the letters, and sometimes they were not in line with each other.So, Dad's egg was always blue, and usually came out like" D Ad"...and mine was always pink. Even so, we always had a wonderful time doing the eggs, and then when we were done, it was remarkable how quickly Bama decided it was bathtime,and we were shooed off to take our baths, and wash our hair, and get into our nightclothes,and once we came back for our goodnight kisses, Everything, including the eggs we had so laughingly and lovingly colored and decorated, had vanished! Yet, the next morning, we would have a big easter egg hunt, with triple the amount of eggs we had colored,as well as other goodies,and stuffed bunnies to find!These hunts always took place at the crack of dawn, because once it was over, we had to clean up,get dressed in our Easter finery, and then sit patiently while Bama curled all the girls hair. Daddy and my brother would have matching suits to wear,and sit around and drink coffee...(my brother's was "Boston" coffee, mostly milk, with just a tiny bit of coffee in the cup)...and until I was eight years old, Dad and I were the only ones who ate breakfast. Everyone else fasted until after church, because this was the Sunday when everyone took communion,or the Lord's supper.So from the age of eight on, I would sit there on the high stool, in my gorgeous scratchy dress, with my stomach growling, while Bama heated the curling iron on the stove, and then with a damp cloth and comb, section by section, she would comb out and then curl my hair in long banana curls, down to my waist.My mother and my sister were always done before me, because they could assist in their own grooming, but not I. I was to sit there, and do, nothing. No talking, no coughing, no sneezing, just sit there, like a big dummy, with my gloved hands in my lap,and not move a muscle, because if I did, I was liable to be singed or burned.And, Oh, the smell of burning hair is so lovely on an empty stomach. And then, the final touch, the hat, just so, now your ready! Get your cape on, and let's go! It's amazing how four growling stomaches in a moving car can sound personally accusatory,when you know YOU are the one everybody was waiting for!
But then an hour later, on the way back from a beautiful service, everyone was chipper and smiling, because we knew the minute we came in the door, we would be sitting down to a big breakfast of eggs and bacon, or sausage and pancakes and orange juice and milk and coffee,and toast and jelly, or perhaps even donuts. The mornings Breakfast was an event! We would eat in the dining room, not in the kitchen as usual, while platters of food were being passed around, eggs over easy, bacon and sausage, toast, pancakes, and all of it perfectly cooked,and pre-buttered, and still hot! And unlike any other day,on Easter I was not urged to hurry up. I was always the slowest eater,and today I was allowed to "dawdle" over my breakfast,while everybody talked,and had seconds, while I was still working on firsts,and Mom and Dad would have more coffee,and take advantage of the extra room of the big table to spread out the newspaper and read while they finished their second,and even third cups of coffee, and even had more toast,or a donut. Sometimes we children would even be offered cocoa, or even chocolate milk with our meal, which made it a special day indeed.
About this time, we would detect the aroma of a ham being roasted,and we knew we were going to have a delicious dinner at home. But sometimes, on rare occasions, there was no ham in the oven, and Mom and Dad would be talking about going out to eat. Sometimes the Jones family would have invited us over, or Dad had decided that we should go to the Amanna's for dinner.
But always, always, there would be a time, when as a family, we would have a talk about why this was such a special day.Why we would head to church looking perfect and new, like we had just stepped out of a band-box,and everyone had to take communion, or the Lord's supper. Because this was the day we commemorated the resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ, who died on the cross on Friday for our sins, and Rose from the dead on Sunday morning,and because he lives, and we accept his sacrifice, we shall live also, and we are new creatures in Christ Jesus, as symbolized by our new clothes, from the skin out! We heard it every year,and yet, it always reminded us anew, why when he said the blessing, or led Grace over our breakfast, there was a tiny tremble in my big father's deep voice, when he would say, "In the name of the Father.." or " Bless us, oh Lord."
And we knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Easter really had nothing to do with eggs, or candy, or even jelly beans and toys. That was just fun stuff thrown in to please little kids who were too young to understand the truth, or people in the world, who didn't want to.
OUI?
Posted by: Steel | April 08, 2007 at 05:22 AM