A Legacy of Easter Eggs

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.

I wish everyone who celebrates Easter (as well as those who don’t) a beautiful day painted with love, joy, and peace.

What we leave behind

100_1001

This post started as a thank you, a sense of gratefulness as I lay in bed at 4 am. waiting for the alarm to chime. Many of us experience those moments when we reflect on the relationships we have with other humans, the ones who reside physically in our lives and those we know only through their words and images – bloggers, writers, readers – people.

100_0371We leave traces of ourselves behind. For some, these legacies are tidal waves that fill the pages of history books. They’re the catalysts of destruction who leave suffering and hardship in their wakes, or they’re the visionaries who dedicate their lives to nobler human aspirations, to creating beauty or fostering peace and compassion.

For most of us, our wakes are gentler, quieter ripples on life’s pond. We act upon the world in smaller ways, planting metaphorical gardens through our choices, our creative ventures, our stewardship and how we treat others.

100_0378Two hundred years from now, most of us won’t be remembered. But if you are like me, you might believe that the traces we leave behind linger in the firmament, that the cosmos is altered in some small way by each brief presence.

And thus, my sleepy morning musing turns back to you. You out there, my friends in the firmament who have sent your ripples into my little pond; they have filled me with gratefulness for your presence. Thank you for reading, commenting, and sharing your time, humor, talent, wisdom, and friendship. My days are warmer for your presence.

100_0377The lovely roses in this post were planted by the woman who lived here before me. Her fragrant garden continues to bloom each spring. She too left beauty in her wake.