Though I did not grow up going to church, Easter mostly meant a day of family time, usually with cousins, searching for Easter eggs. I remember one drive to Grandma Eleanor’s; my mom had not quite finished our matching dresses so she sat in her slip, hemming hers, as my dad’s chevy truck rolled down to Enumclaw.
Today I felt like I was hunting for treasure once again, as I spent an hour looking for the photo I am sure I have of our daughter, basket in hand, running across the lawn on a sunny afternoon. Nope, can’t find it. I did, however, run across this:
I was in college before I started to understand and appreciated this Christian holiday. You know, that doesn’t take away from the happy childhood memories made hunting boiled, colored eggs. It doesn’t take away from the laughter of finding a rotten egg, hidden the year before. It doesn’t take away from the lunchbox egg salad sandwiches. And the smell of those sandwiches. Yuck. Or yum, if your one of my best girlfriends.
So on this Easter weekend, regardless of your plans, I wish you the joy I see in my daughter’s face.
Here’s to you David Bowie.
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