When my sister, Emma, and I were much younger, we used to love Easter egg hunts. Before or after Easter, we’d continue hiding eggs on our own for days and days, empty and filled with treats. Those colorful eggs offered hours and days of Easter fun in our yard.
I’d forgotten about this, but my dad reminded me this weekend: The Easter Bunny used to fill some of the colorful plastic eggs in our yard with puzzle pieces. His helper (aka my mom) would write a message on the back of the put-together puzzle, so after we found all the pieces, we could put the 20-piece puzzle back together and finally read the message. But every year, we’d miss at least one of the eggs in the yard. It’d usually show up much later in the year, sometimes when my dad was mowing the lawn.
Emma and I always decorated a dozen hard boiled eggs as well. We HAD to have our own dozen, and we’d protect our eggs from eventually being eaten by other family members. They were too pretty to become deviled eggs. That third or fourth dozens of dyed eggs could be relegated to that demise. Every year at college, I kept up the egg-decorating tradition — with my freshman roommates, with my Little from Big Brothers Big Sisters, and last year, with a whole group of friends and our significant others.
This year, since I was in Roanoke for the holiday, my dad suggested we decorate eggs with my grandparents, at their house across the street from ours. At 92 and 93, they’ve had significant health and mental problems the past year, putting a huge strain on my family. My grandmother has seemed to be going downhill the past few weeks again: anxiety, paranoia, hitting.
She used to do a lot of small crafts, so dying Easter eggs was actually something she could still do, with all of us at the table with her. I’d place a hard boiled egg on a spoon for her, and she’d place it in the cup of dye. Once it was bright pink or blue or orange, she’d use the spoon to take it back out, and we’d help her place it on the drying rack. We even got her to laugh a few times this weekend, when I commented on believing on the Easter Bunny still. (He IS real! Though for the first time ever, he didn’t come to our house. I guess that’s what happens when you’re almost 23.)
After an early church service with my dad, I helped my mom fix up some yummy spring foods for lunch with my grandparents. We made deviled eggs, fruit salad, asparagus and cheese gallettes, and a mixed salad. We also served Lemon Loaf Cake, the next item for our Tuesdays with Dorie challenge. (That post doesn’t go live until April 17.)
(Easter and Passover also coincide this year, which is rare—and I went to my first Passover Seder.)