More than a few jellybeans

Easter Sunday.  I know Easter, I’m Catholic.  If anyone knows Easter it’s the Catholics.  I know the meaning. I know the solemnity. I know the joy.  I know Jesus.  I’ve cried for Jesus’s pain and suffering more than once this weekend.  He has been forefront on my mind.  But there are other things I have cried about this weekend as well.   Easter is full of memories of my mother, and I have missed her terribly these past few days.  I don’t know why I have missed her more now than I did at Christmas, but I have. 

 

I regret the years I disappointed her by not wanting to participate in the Easter morning egg hunt at Kamper Park.  I was too shy to pick up more eggs than the other children so she would have to pick them up for me.  She was so competitive when it came to the egg hunt.  I was not. I know it was embarrassing for her.

I miss being little and hunting for my Easter basket hidden somewhere in the bushes in the front yard.  Mama was queen when it came to making Easter baskets.  I would find mine wrapped in colored cellophane, as pretty as if it came from a store already assembled.  Of course there would be a slug or two that had taken up residence that would have to be plucked off before bringing it inside.   Under the cellophane and nestled in the basket would be Gold Brick eggs, and Heavenly Hash, and some Robin Eggs sprinkled about with some sticky jellybeans, among other things.  And it was all mine.  Years later, when she decided to make just one basket for the table for everyone to share, I would raid the front bedroom where she kept all the candy hidden till Easter and sneak a few of this or that.  She did not mind, she would just buy more.

I still buy the Gold Brick and Heavenly Hash for my table even though no one in my family really cares for it.  I like them, but mostly I buy them because she did, and I want to remember.

For many years Mama would make a lamb cake for Easter Sunday.  She used a special cake mold and once assembled she would cover it in coconut and use jelly beans for the eyes, nose and mouth.   Around the lamb would be green coconut and more jellybeans, as if they lamb was lying in a meadow surrounded by Easter eggs.   My sister, The Middle Child, made it this year as a tribute to Mama.  I remember the cake to be quite large, but she used the same mold and I was surprised at how small it actually is.  I must say my sister did a great job, down to the jellybean studded meadow, as evident by the picture above.  Tasty, too.

At some point the lamb cake gave way to strawberry pie.  Mama would make the kind of strawberry pie with 7-up in the mix.   I’ve been thinking of strawberry pies for more than a week now, so that is what I contributed to the meal.  Like Mama, I went a little overboard and made six pies.  She never made anything in small portions, and I think I’ve inherited that practice.  I don’t mind the leftover pie so much as I do the leftover 7-Up. Blech.

I miss the Easter egg hunt Mama would hold each year.  I think the egg hunt was something that truly made her happy.  She would be almost giddy talking about hiding the eggs.  I can still see her standing on the sidelines, yelling “GO” to send us on our way to collect plastic eggs, and laughing at us if we couldn’t find them.  You wanted to find them for the prizes they entailed.  Prizes like soap, toothpaste, toilet tissue, and money.   She would sit on the porch and call out numbers.  If you had the egg with the same number you got a prize, and she would fling the prize to you from across the porch.  The only thing I can equate it to is being at a Mardi Gras parade, begging for strands of plastic beads to be thrown my way, and hoping I get the ones with the big pearls and they don't hit me upside my head.  

Today I hosted Easter at my house.  My sisters and brothers and their families came, as well as my in-laws.  I count myself to be most fortunate to have two families to combine so well they will share a holiday.  The traditional food was served; lasagna, ham, deviled eggs, strawberry pie, sweet potato casserole.  I wanted to do something special to include Mama, but to have a hunt without her would feel like having a party and not inviting the one who most wanted to be invited.  Nevertheless, I wanted to keep a piece of this tradition alive so I gave everyone an egg with a special prize.  They just didn’t have to hunt for them.  And I didn’t fling the prizes.  Maybe I’ll do that next year.