Dear Diary, It is Easter!


Dear Diary,  It is the eve of Easter and all is well at the rabbit patch.

I did not spend the day dying eggs nor hiding them.  Lyla is in Wilmington, celebrating her great-grandmothers’ ninety-second birthday.  Lylas’ dad, Will, adores his grandmother.  He has been talking  about the party for weeks. The pictures, I have seen, of the event, are lovely.   Everyone  looks so happy, especially, Grandma Thompson.  I have said this before, when a child is born in to a family where love is abundant, that child is born “with a silver spoon in their mouth.”  

Tomorrow, we  will have a special Sunday dinner, with a turkey and all of the usual trimmings.  . . but today, we started “spring cleaning”.  I started early this morning, in the pantry.  I burned more branches too, and if no one goes in the back yard, they will find the rabbit patch territory, tidy.  I cleaned out the “housekeeping” closet and washed blankets as I did.  I find house work enjoyable, if I needn’t rush.  Tonight, I will look at what was accomplished and take great satisfaction in that.  I am by no means finished, but there is more order in the old house, this evening, than there was this morning.

Tonight will be a sleepless night for the youngest children.  How can they sleep knowing a kind rabbit will bring them baskets of chocolates and brightly colored eggs?  I still remember the chocolate rabbits from my own childhood.  Sometimes we got buckets with shovels.  Mama made cakes shaped like rabbits for Easter Sunday.

My sisters and I always got a new dress for Easter.  There were also hats, gloves and little white pocketbooks, to match our white patent leather shoes.   I loved the shiny little shoes, even if they were hard and were difficult to buckle. We would not wear our black patent leather shoes again-til after Labor Day.  I still stick to that rule, though all of the fashion experts have given  us permission to throw  “caution to the wind”  and wear white when you please.

Mama rolled our hair on Saturday night.  That was another reason it was hard to sleep.  Both of my sisters had hair that curled beautifully.  My curls fell out  in Sunday School, no matter how much “Adorn” Mama sprayed on them.  That was also about the time, that the lace that trimmed  every thing we wore , started to itch and the fancy shoes started to pinch.  I was also tired of the little gloves.  I could not color well with gloves, but at least, I had a new pocketbook to put them in.

There were always several egg hunts to attend.  The Sunday school teachers had one and our family had one too.  I do not know why, but I was never good at finding eggs.  Children would rush to their parents exclaiming they had twenty or thirty eggs.  I told Mama I had four, in a whisper.  I who find wild violets and four leaf clovers, could not find the brightly colored eggs.  Sympathetic mothers encouraged their children to”share” with me.  The children filed by with sullen faces and would toss a few eggs in my basket, begrudgingly.  It was the same every year, and to this day  it remains a mystery, for me, that I could not find the brightly colored eggs in the spring grass.  Thank Goodness, I have seen a picture of Lyla , in Wilmington, with a heaping basket of eggs, already.  She can find eggs, so she must have dodged that  dreadful gene.

Dear Diary, It is Easter, and the day has dawned fair.

The turkey is cooking, in the very old roasting pan as the first golden rays declare the morning.   I have pulled out dishes in all sorts of pastels.  There is a pink butter dish, shaped like a rabbit and the lovely set of salt and pepper shakers, that Rae gave me.  They are shaped like rabbits, too.  I have a platter with birds on it, that my sister gave me, for the turkey-so the table should be particularly inviting.  I will search the rabbit patch for something to go in a vase.  I will probably pick up a few branches along the way, too.

Last year, it rained all day on Easter.  I remember gathering flowers in the rain.  Today, more than makes up for it.  There is a light breeze blowing gently.  The dogwood is blossoming and the azaleas at the rabbit patch are doing their part, to remind us of life renewed.   . . as do brightly colored eggs and the young rabbits that play on the rabbit patch , while the birds, build their nests.





12 thoughts on “Dear Diary, It is Easter!

  1. You are my southern sister! I was just recounting stories of my childhood in my itchy Easter dress, white gloves, bonnet, white shoes and little white purse! I have fond memories of my childhood in South Carolina. Happy Easter dear friend❤️🐰🌷

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Your Easter dinner table “looks” so beautiful. I can just imagine the beautiful pastel dishes. So pretty!
    Your Easter egg basket might of been short on eggs but it was probably full of violets and four leaf clover.
    Wishing you a wonder Easter

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I love your memories, wow, you dressed so nicely! 🙂 We never dressed quite that fancy, although I do remember nicely dressing for Easter. I should ask my mother about her Easter memories as she was born in 1950. I think I need to read farther back on your diary here or dig around to find out who all these wonderful people you are talking about are! I’m assuming some are grandchildren? Happy Easter!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Lyla is my only grandchild-she is now two. I have 5 children, Brant Tres, Kyle Jenny (married to Will) Lylas’ mom, too- and Christian at 24, is the youngest son. Rae and Jo Dee are some of my best frends. Thank you darling-you are probably to young to have dressed like that at Easter!

      Liked by 1 person

  4. Nice post. Brings back many memories of things I did when I was a child. Ah chocolate on Easter – such a treat. I talked to many grandmother’s at church yesterday who were worn out from their Easter egg hunts, Ha 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  5. So true. I think we in the US are pauticrlarly hung up on job status as the chief indicator of success or worthiness. As a mostly “at home” mom who freelance writes part-time, I was actually asked by a stranger if I am using my college degree or staying home with the kids. He had noticed our college sweatshirts and remarked on the solid reputation of our Alma mater. Mike was more offended than I was, because believe it or not, I could tell this (older) man wasn’t disparaging raising children. What annoyed me was the assumption that being at home with children is a waste of an education, or a permanent state.


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