If your children are grown, you may not reminisce about a holiday until the day arrives.

Suddenly, precious memories fill your mind like a cascade of flower petals teasing forth Easter celebrations from long ago.

This type of memory dump is part of this writer’s life. It is probably the same for you as well. All it takes is being in the moment. Then something you hear, see, taste, or smell triggers those special memories. Your mind seeks out and dusts off moments nearly forgotten in the mists of time.

And, no. Contrary to what you may think, we are not in regression therapy. Nor are we playing with an out of control Ouija Board. Stay with me, folks. The memories I share with you fit the occasion, namely, Easter Sunday.

Our mother had the magic touch, blending Hungarian and American traditions seamlessly. She baked, bought, and hid candies and gifts, forgetting where she hid them.

For Easter, Mother cut hundreds of petals from pink and blue foam egg cartons and pasted them on what started as sticks or a small branch. But after she worked her magic, those simple sticks turned into gorgeous little Easter tree centerpieces covered in pink and blue blossoms.

I would not be surprised if one of her words to live by were, “Never let a holiday pass without decorations and celebrations.”

Following in her footsteps, I decorated for most holidays as well. Since Hubby and I grew up in different cultures, American and Hungarian, we often combined elements from both. On Easter, we followed American traditions.

Part of our Easter decorations included homemade chocolate bunnies, ducks, and even a chocolate train rolling on chocolate tracks. Yes, I also dyed and decorated Easter eggs.

Because of my anti-germ tendencies, we bought and hid plastic eggs instead of using real ones for the egg hunt. To make things a bit more fun, we filled them with candy, nuts, or small toys.

Instead of hiding the eggs outdoors, we simplified things and hid them around the house. The reason? If the children did not find all of the eggs, we could forgo the fun of a lost egg hunt days later, guided by the stinky smell. After all, their mother has a sensitive nose.

There is a two-year difference between our children. We never expected that to be an issue, but then it soon became apparent our beautiful daughter, the elder of the two urchins, was and continues to be quite competitive.

We handed each child a basket and encouraged them to find the hidden eggs. To our daughter’s disappointment, her two-year-old brother found every single egg before she did. That is when her enraged shrieks broke the sound barrier and damaged our eardrums.

To placate the unhappy little princess, we hid more eggs and distracted our son while she filled her basket. Even so, she insisted on counting her eggs and his, hoping she had more than he did. But her tricky parents hid the same number of eggs for both children.

This Easter is different. Local dictators around the country have taken things a step beyond the pale. In some cities, the church attendance Gestapo ticketed folks $300 or more even if people were in their cars at a drive-in service.

The words church or religion bring out the hives on the hides of folks who prefer to keep such things out of their lives. All that religion stuff complicates their lives. Perhaps if they do not believe, then anything goes. Without a moral compass, they feel free to indulge in immoral or socially unacceptable behavior. They shy away from anything that might prod their dormant conscience.

This writer continues to hope the bad guys will get their comeuppance. The only problem is if you believe in an afterlife, and their retribution does not happen until they die, you will miss the show. Drat!

It may not be a kind thing to think or say out loud. But why does it take so long for the bad guys to get the payback we secretly hope to witness and savor?


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