Like many families we would color eggs every year, relying on the old standby, PAAS Easter egg dye. It's comforting to know the essentials haven't changed much over the years: the same cardboard box, colored tablets, and octagonal wire egg dipper that you'd bend into the proper angle for scooping. (I also have a vague memory of a spinning contraption that painted as you twirled your egg, but I think that was a fleeting trend before I came onto the scene.) Mom would boil the eggs and we'd commence with the color mixing, pouring the vinegar into assorted cups and mugs while watching the tablets dissolve. Years ago they included decals for adornment, the kind you'd scratch on the reverse side until the design transferred to the egg. There were the usual suspects: bunnies, flowers, and chicks. In recent years they've switched to stickers, which are not only less fun, but also seem to fail at the actual sticking part of the deal.
We constantly came up with new ideas, but the basic techniques were the same. Some eggs would sit patiently in a cup while they turned a deep hue, others were criss-crossed with colors for a plaid effect. There was the draw and dip method and the trickle down technique. My brother Bob always had meticulous designs - the one I clearly remember was dyed bright yellow and featured 'GRADE A EXTRA LARGE' perfectly cross-hatched in black ballpoint pen. A few of mine invariably turned a lovely shade of grayish-brown, the result of one too many color combos, and a few others were covered in fingerprints by the end. Perhaps not masterpieces all, but nested together on a bed of iridescent Easter grass, they looked pretty good.
It wasn't our tradition to hide the eggs, or even eat them, really. Maybe a few of the less successful examples were consumed (not by me...yuck!), but mostly they just sat there being pretty. The funniest thing, and the part that still draws quizzical looks to this day, is that our mom saved them - not for a few days or a week, but for years! And years and years. She saved them until they eventually became almost petrified, with a hardened yolk rattling around inside. We wondered aloud more than once what would happen if they ever broke. Would it be a horrible, smelly mess? Well, it never happened. They sat undisturbed in a Red Owl grocery bag for decades, time capsules wrapped in a fragile shell.
Oh, and the Easter baskets! Our mom was the Easter basket maker extraordinaire. Some were made from recycled green plastic strawberry containers, a few were simple cupcake liners. Some were handmade from woven construction paper or string wrapped balloons, and others were more traditional. No matter the shape or size, all were brimming with candy: malted milk balls, jelly beans, those hard candy shells filled with white marshmallow creme, circus peanuts, M&M's, Peeps, star shaped chocolates, Reese's peanut butter cups, and chocolate bunnies.
Baskets were hidden all over - upstairs, downstairs, and in every hidden nook. Each was assigned to one of us with a little slip of paper bearing our name. Upon waking that morning, you'd usually find an obvious one sitting right in your bedroom. Then, pretending not to look around too much, you'd begin to explore the rest of the house. Sometimes you'd be excited to find one, only to discover it belonged to a sibling, so you'd slyly put it back in its place and continue your search with a knowing look on your face. All of us would be wandering about, trying to look casual as we snooped in kitchen cabinets, reached into golf bags, and brushed aside curtains. Once in awhile we were able to expand the hunt outside, but Mother Nature didn't often cooperate. We seemed to mill about for hours, all the while accumulating more sugary goodness. (As the youngest, I'm pretty sure I made out like a bandit.)
When it was finally decided that everything (hopefully) had been found, I would gather my candy booty and transfer it to the largest basket, astonished at my good fortune. There I would sit, methodically sorting and unsticking the marshmallow bits from the Easter grass bits. I think we pretty much ate with abandon - I don't recall ever having a two piece a day limit or some such nonsense. Mom was cool like that. : )
These days I still look forward to Easter. Always a supporter of the jelly bean industry, I keep a jar filled (and refilled) for a solid two months. My new tradition includes the Easter Parade along Fifth Avenue, and the consumption of Peep-laden cocktails (thanks, Tom!). Now please excuse me while I don a ridiculous hat and go for a stroll.
Happy Easter!
