I wasn’t raised in a religious family though when Easter came around, I wouldn’t turn down a chocolate bunny or an opportunity to hunt for boiled and dyed eggs in the garden.
But what I remember most about the holiday was painting eggs, and since my grandmother was an artist, painting eggs was a weeks-long event.
My grandparents lived with us, and every year, a few weeks before Easter, my mother and grandmother would make pinpricks in both ends of 100 eggs. They’d blow on one small hole, and the egg whites and yolks would exit through the other, leaving a hollow shell that would last for… well, for lifetimes, at least.
A week before Easter, they’d set up multiple card tables and folding chairs and watercolors and acrylics and brushes and glazes and all the other supplies needed for an egg-painting extravaganza.
They’d invite the whole neighborhood for a day of creativity and community. People would stop by, chat, paint, and leave with their creations. Not all of the eggs were beautiful, but all of them were precious. Those are some of my fondest memories of Easter.
I’m the keeper of my family’s painted eggs.
I have about 40 of them, a legacy of Easter eggs.
They remind me of my grandparents and parents, my brothers, my friends and their families – the joy of community. These are some of my favorites eggs, and a few of them are older than me! I hope you enjoyed them.
Myths of the Mirror 