Good morning, friend!
With Easter just days away, I have been thinking back to prior years . . . and by back, I mean way back. Travel back with me, will you, to the 1960s? What? You say you weren’t born yet? Oh, just take your unwrinkly self back there with me anyway, OK? You’re going to love it!
Are you with me? Oops! We went a little farther back than I intended. We ended up on Palm Sunday. Man, oh man, did I love Palm Sunday at my church! By some miracle, we had real palm branches to wave. Palm branches! In northern Wisconsin! Oh, I had all the pine branches I’d ever want, but palm branches? They were from a whole other world! We sang “Hosanna, Loud Hosanna” and walked down the center aisle waving those miraculous things. But that was just the start. Easter was still a week away.
As a kid, I think Easter was my favorite holiday. Sure, I loved getting Christmas presents as much as the next kid, but there was something about Easter. . . .
It may have been the fact that it was the start of springtime. Winter was fine and fun for a kid. There was ice skating, skiing, sledding, and all that jazz, but I remember being so excited that it was almost over and that summer was on its way. Spring was Summer’s very cool and fashionable older cousin. We anticipated her arrival with rapt excitement, knowing she would show up eventually, but then only very briefly. Spring was beautiful and charming but so elusive. You never knew quite when she’d show up. Oh sure, the calendar said one thing, but Spring doesn’t follow the rules. She shows up when she darn well pleases. And you always know that she will only stay for a short time when she does show up. She’ll razzle dazzle us for a few short weeks and then quietly slip out the back to let her revered cousin, Summer, in.
In the 1960s, I would have worn a pretty Easter dress, little white anklet socks with lace, probably some new white patent leather Mary Janes, and a flowery hat. I remember also carrying a little patent leather purse with a clean handkerchief inside. Oh, and white gloves! OK, now picture all that cute frilly-ness—and now picture it all covered up with a winter coat because, more often than not, that’s what happened. Spring could have a sharp tongue at times. I heard her more than once mutter, “Easter, Schmeester! There’s still snow on the ground, and I’m going to whip up some flurries just because I can!” (She could be a bit frosty sometimes.)
In my house back then, the Easter Bunny did not leave brightly-colored plastic eggs filled with candy. He left jelly beans hidden hither and yon. That’s what I searched for on Easter morning. Or, as the bag said, which always confused me, jelly “bird eggs.” Has anyone ever referred to those gummy little treats as “jelly bird eggs?”
I was crazy about rabbits as a kid. I remember them being my favorite animals. I had a stuffed yellow rabbit I slept with for eons. One Easter morning, my mom and dad told me to look in the garage. Behold! What manner of love was this? REAL RABBITS! Two of them! I was beside myself. We lived out in the country, and my dad built a hutch for them. Snowball and Mr. Whiskers did just that for a while. It wasn’t ideal, though; I don’t think my dad liked to see those pretty little critters living in a hutch where they could look out and see 40 acres of beautiful wilderness and not be out in them. I’m unsure if they were granted their freedom or went back to wherever they came from, but I know I didn’t have them any longer. Easy come, easy go.
As the years went on and stuffed rabbits, or real ones, for that matter, became less appealing, my mom started making these little yummy, delectable mouthfuls of love called Ham Balls. Meatballs, but made with ham and pork instead of ground beef. They are baked in a sweet, tangy sauce. No doubt there were some scalloped potatoes to go along with that, and maybe something she called “Glorified Rice.” I’m sure Jell-O was involved in some manner as well. Ah, but those ham balls. Like the palm branches the week prior and the real bunnies that arrived one year, they were miraculous joys of the season.
I’d be remiss, however, if I didn’t mention the real miracle of Easter—the reason we celebrate in the first place. The fact that Someone loved me enough to come to earth and live a sinless life, only to be beaten up, humiliated, mocked, and crucified on a cross because of the wrong things I’ve done. Behold! What manner of love was that? And then, not staying dead, but Jesus rose to life again and granted us that same thing if we believe in Him! Come on! That’s better than palm branches, real rabbits, or even ham balls! That’s everything!
What are some of your special Easter memories? I’d love to hear about them?
Wishing you a Blessed Easter!
Written with love – – – Patti XOXO
“Easter is the soul’s first taste of spring.”
Richelle E. Goodrich