Easter is actually....fun.

For the majority of my 40 something years, Easter Sundays at best have been gigantic flashes in the pan.  At  worst, they were high-stress dramas rivaling the interplay of Sue Ellen and JR at the Southfork trolley bar.  WASPy nightmares.   And all this came with detailed preparation: frenzied clothes shopping excursions, exotic grocery store visits in search of  some whacky ingredients you'll use once in a lifetime for that "extra special new side dish recipe", the hope of discovering that one place in town that carries the best lamb leg.  The late Saturday night horror that so-and-so only packed shorts and the ensuing sermonette entitled "You make this long trip, knowing where you're coming,  and you bring nothing for church?"   Long story short, there has always been simply too much commotion for a day you'll typically end up doing nothing more than eating, sleeping, and complaining about  kooky relatives.  It's Easter when you long for the crazy Texas aunt, 6 times married, to arrive with her 98 year old insurance victim #6 in tow to deflect all this loving Easter scorn (More about her in a later post).  Easter lunch chatter is typically spiced with profound musings regarding the spiritual plight of un-churched or semi-churched relatives, why some failed to send Easter greetings, or despite the importance placed upon learning Luther's Small Catechism and his having served his entire teenage years as an altar boy, his Easter card this year featured a rabbit instead of the risen Christ.   Is it time for my nap yet? This polemic as well as the potato-miso-fennel hotdish are weighing heavily on my stomach.    In the scheme of things Easter had always been much like George Washington's birthday, but with a gamey roast, plenty of sour grapes, and a mind-numbing scavenger hunt through retail hell for someone's daughter's perfect easter socks -- or worse, the Easter shoes -- 12 hours before the blasted bunny's visit and photo time by the flower bed.   No memories, really,  of fabulous Easters past.

I've lived in South Louisiana for 13 years, and typically carried on the drudgery of Easter year after year.  It's what one does.  Early last week, I wasn't anticipating a holiday.  But then Blaine was excited about Easter.  There seemed to be something he knew that I didn't about the paschal feast.  "Fun" just hadn't been a concept that paired naturally with mention of "Easter".   It was high time to break the old, loathesome chocolate bunny mold.  Easter as a holiday needed a good pressure washing.  Easter needed a serious overhaul.  And this was the year for it. 

We were invited to spend Easter Sunday afternoon/evening with friends.  I hadn't dyed eggs since I was 12.  Once the nieces had sleuthed out that the Easter Bunny was a hoax, dyed eggs were passe.   The process was deemed too messy, too time consuming, a pointless waste of food.  But this year, there would be eggs, and these eggs would be magnificent.  And no monochromatic primary colored eggs.  Blaine described a process involving pens, markers, crayons, and a daring approach to coloring them -- multicolored eggs attained by dipping sections into small portions of dye, allowing the dye to swirl around the shell to create intriguing color patterns and designs.  Draw on an egg? I liked the idea.  It was creative, fresh, and new.   Besides, the impending pacquer'ing competition made the task even more important.  There would be egg judging: most colorful, most, creative, most, most, most.  And most important: the most resilient when one end was pacquer'd against that of another to see which would crack.  Bragging rights. 

We boiled and decorated 2 dozen eggs plus some extras, should there be premature casualties.  The day for me began at Church, having been called upon to play and to add another bass voice to the Handel Hallelujah.  The afternoon was reserved for a most excellent Easter celebration with some really good friends.  Everyone brought their eggs, set them out to be admired.  They were all very beautiful and all quite unique.  Smiles and laughter amidst these fantastic creations.    This is the sort of Easter Day I had never had before, one on which everyone enjoys everyone else's company.   No bickering, things are laid back, easy-going, and just plain relaxing.  Blaine won "Most Creative Egg", I won "Most Colorful Egg": the eggs' brief claims to fame. In the end, all the eggs were destined for deviling on his holiest of feasts.  Pacquer'ing commenced.  Each of mine cracked.  A few of Blaine's stood the challenge, until they, too, succumbed.  Phyllis, however, armed with one of Hillary's tie-dyed eggs, knocked out one after the other, until finally, one of Blaine's compromised the shell of steel.  Phyllis, victory in sight, nonetheless won the accolade of "Most Reuthless Egg", having eliminated the majority of the day's combatants.   The remains of the day, cracked and damaged, were repacked in their cartons and carried to the kitchen for peeling.  As we stripped away the colorful shells, I discovered an egg in my carton still intact, unpacquer'd.  Jeanne was standing by and was challenged to dethrone Blaine's viking warrior egg that had vanquished the Most Reuthless.  Crack.  Jeanne victorious.   

What an amazing Easter Day this had been.  One well spent in great company.  Good friends, new traditions.  Now, I can add another fantastic holiday to the calendar, one whose arrival had formerly been dreaded, once garlanded with overrought familial drama, insipid boredom, and endless tedium was now liberated from the tomb, made to walk in the newness of life!