Atria was all dressed up for Easter yesterday. I loved this beautiful filled egg that sat on a table in the lobby.
In the memory unit, the dining room is lined with plastic eggs and streamers. I'm sure my mother hasn't noticed. I told her that Easter was coming ("oh is it?" she replied, not interested). I said that it would just be Walt and me for dinner and asked if she would like to join us. She waited a moment and then said "Well...I have some people coming. I can't remember their name, but I have to get ready. Let me get back to you on that." I took that as a "no" and won't ask her again.
But I went to CVS to get stuff to put together an Easter basket for her. I got several kinds of candy, including little Lindt Easter bunnies. They didn't have any straw baskets. We used to have dozens of them, all remnants of floral arrangements that had been sent to us after David's and Paul's deaths, but I eventually donated them to the SPCA thrift shop and have none left now. But I found a tiny plastic basket that looked like the perfect size.
I'll put a bow on it and bring it to her later this week, when I have a car.
Our kids had Easter baskets for several years. The first one I made was probably Ned's first Easter, when Jeri would have been old enough to notice. This was particularly memorable for me because I found a gigantic bunny, almost as big as Jeri, on sale for a ridiculously low price and bought it, along with a slightly smaller bunny for Ned.
In time, Easter egg hunts replaced baskets and, especially after we moved to Davis, the kids would stand in their bedrooms, looking down on the back yard and map out where they could see eggs hidden. My favorite place to hide an egg was on top of the jungle gym, clearly visible from an upstairs window.
Karen and I had Easter egg hunts too, but since we did not have a grassy yard, our egg hunts were held in the living room (never was sure how the bunny got into the room!). It was Easter when I had one of the most shocking revelations of my life. My parents were watching us search and pointing out places where we should look and it suddenly hit me that they were the ones who had hidden the eggs.
"Thank you," I whispered to my father, who said, "Now that you know about the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus, don't spoil things for your sister." Santa Claus too????? I still remember how shocked I was to see this fantasy crumble along with the Easter bunny.
There were always new dresses, shoes and hats for Karen and me at Easter time.
with our neighbor, Stephen Calegari. We're probably 5.
I always loved the frilly dresses and my mother (who literally worshipped patent leather shoes when she was a girl whose parents couldn't afford to get her a pair) always made sure I had new patent leather shoes for Easter, though I hated them.
It wasn't a big deal to get new clothes for the boys at Easter, but I tried to get a new dress for Jeri each year. She had her own style, even as a little kid. I remember the time we looked through a whole rack of pastel frilly dresses, none of which Jeri liked. I finally told her I was going to the other side of the department and she could pick out the dresses she liked. Her choice (she was 5, I believe) was black with tiny flowers on it. Definitely not my idea of an Easter dress, but it was perfect for her and she looked so cute in it. I was glad I had let her make her own decision.
Religion did play a role in our Easters, both when I was a child and when our own kids were young, but the holiday these days seems to be mostly very secular. I suspect Walt is the only one who still goes to church. I remember in grammar school when I and about 3 or 4 of my classmates (Stephen was one of them) went to a hill near our house (it's now a fancy apartment building) to spend the 3 hours on Good Friday. We took our bibles and the idea was to meditate and pray for 3 hours. We each perched on a different part of the hill, separated from each other. But, being kids, we didn't last 3 hours. We might not even have lasted one hour and I think we ended up back at my house for snacks.