Easter used to mean going to my sister’s farm and hiding eggs all over the forty acres, then sending the kids (all ten of them) across the property in search.  They never found them all, and my brother-in-law mowed the sulfurous stinkiness up a couple of weeks later.  Ahhh the good old days.  Now, the kids have kids and those are the kids that are hunting eggs, because all of us have become grandparents.  What vile trick of fate is this.  My youth has been stolen and given to my children.

On Sunday my oldest son, non-vag. daughter, grandson, oldest sister, mother, hubby, and myself had a quiet (yeah right) little Easter at our house.  Normally, we hide Easter eggs in the backyard, but this year the temperatures were too cool and the weather was too damp.  It rained all morning and well into the afternoon.  So Boppy hid Easter eggs in the house.  He hid a dozen plastic eggs filled with change down low for the precious to find, and a dozen real eggs in difficult locales for the adults to find.  Note: difficult locales.  When my son and his family arrived the precious immediately started finding eggs.  He was so excited…the eggs were everywhere.  He found them and put them in his basket.  He couldn’t wait.  Almost with the first 10 minutes he was here he had found all 12 of his Easter eggs.  Then he started finding the “hard” eggs.  I had to re-hide some of his finds.  When it was time for the adult Easter egg hunt, he was a little short in the stride to actually find the eggs, but…it didn’t keep him from coaching.  He walked along behind his mom, granny, daddy, and aunt, chattering like a little monkey and pointing to places he felt eggs could be.  His dad handed him an egg (don’t ask me why) and he hurled a beautiful forward pass to me.  I wish I had known it was coming.  Egg shell went everywhere.  I was in big trouble for breaking his football.  I tried and tried to make him understand that what he had thrown was not a football but and egg.  I even showed him his little green hand that was a result of the green egg.  OMG!!  He went nuts!!  Green hand!  It was like a two foot tall rain man had invaded his body.  Must wash hand.  Two minutes till hand wash. One minute till hand wash.  Hand wash…hand wash…hand wash.  Finally we got the hands washed and he settled down.  I sometimes think he is Boppy’s son not grandson.  Geez a lou!

If you ever truly want to enjoy yourself get some Easter eggs and some elderly people.  You won’t need many…of either.  Mom is almost 78.  She wasn’t going to hunt eggs.  My sister basically had to twist her arm to get her to do it.  It has probably been 72 years since her last egg hunt, if she ever hunted eggs other than the ones the hens laid.  She found one.  Now the egg hunt probably took 20 minutes.  Most of the eggs had been found within the first 10 minutes.  There was one egg that defied finding.  If you have ever had an indoor egg hunt with real eggs you know that the hunt ain’t over until all eggs are found so no one was giving up.  Mom started in “I’m through.”  “No you’re not.”  “Well I can’t find any.”  I was so tempted right then to pull out “can’t never could”.  God I hated that saying.  I bet I heard it at least a gazillion times growing up.  It would be nothing short of sweet justice to pull that one out of the closet, dust it off and lob it at her head.  I didn’t.  “Well you found one.”  “That’s all I’ve found.”  “Well did it come up and jump in your arms?”  “No. I found it.”  “Guess you’re gonna have to find this last one too.”  She didn’t.  My sister did.  Finally.  I took pictures.  Lots of pictures.  There is something so satisfying about seeing grown ups walking around with little baskets on their arms, bending and stretching, hunting high and low for a colored boiled egg.  Now granted…the eggs were worth money, but technically…no never mind that…my son summed it up beautifully “are you kidding the economy is so bad I’m whoring myself out over boiled eggs.”

You know, there is a life story in there.  When you get right down to it you are either the entertainer or the entertained and sometimes the only difference is who has the bankroll.  I never thought I would boil Easter down to something so barbaric.  But hey, the economy is bad….I’ve got the pictures to prove it!