AN EASTER CONFECTION - Part 2

   Easter...spring...and the sounds of morning doves bring thoughts of 

an Easter long ago…

It’s 1955  and I’m watching the Lawrence Welk show with my grandmother Ethel.  My mother interrupts the champagne music with – “You better dye your eggs before it’s too late.” “ Too late for what?...Ah yes, I know... the Easter Bunny is coming tonight.  We began the ritual of  dying with those colored tablets from the "Happy Easter Kit" mom bought at Newberry’s.  The teacups were filled with warm water and some vinegar after I creatively wrote waxy messages on some of the eggs mom had hard boiled,  Pop Pop…Nanny…Mom…Dad…Me! dedicate each to its beneficiary.  BTW - Only Pop ever ate his hard boiled eggs.  To be honest, I hated hard boiled eggs... the yellow part always made me gag.  As usual as I did each year, I dunked my first egg in all six colors hoping for a rainbow effect that was pictured on the box - but again this year it resulted in a mud gray egg.  Once again I decided to stick to one color at a time.  I always liked blue best. When we finished we left our handiwork on the kitchen counter in Nanny's big mixing bowl – so the Easter Bunny could find them, my mother said.   Smart bunny I thought to myself.   And I wondered…this is not like Christmas…if I don’t believe there is a bunny not much was at stake.  But I wasn’t about to not believe in Santa ...not yet and I went to bed looking forward to Easter..

I woke early and raced to the kitchen and mom was already there... and like every year I found  a basket full of great stuff – and in the center was a big chocolate egg with my name on it – Calvin.  Yep, that's me.  My mom announced, “See what good boys and girls get for Easter” this justified stuffing myself with chocolate and marshmallows once each Spring.  Later I wore last year's suit which almost fits and my new shoes which more than fit with plenty of room for my ever growing feet - which mom proclaimed every time she bought me a new pair.  And they always slipped at the heels and gave me blisters until I broke them in. 

We went to the 4th Methodist church and sang: “The Old Rugged Cross” and prayed and then sang some more.  I fidgeted during another long sermon and as usual,  thought about just how many jelly beans are lurking in the green plastic grass in my basket.  And then it's finally over and we walked home in the warm white spring sunshine to a dinner that Nanny had been preparing while we took care of the Methodist part of the day - a massive ham, fresh carrots and boiled potatoes.  As we sat at our modest feast I was asked to give the blessing.  The holiday called for a special one instead of my "God is great, God is good" old stand-by -  I tried to remember some words our Pastor Gifford had used today.  I stumbled through a prayer which produced kind smiles.  I thanked GOD for our food – but in my mind I also thanked him for another break from school work...

   ….And now so many decades later I wish I could savor one more of Nanny’s dinners and afterward taste a sugar crusted yellow peep and know I hada week without arithmetic.