The lost holidays

[actual autocorrect I got today] 

Happy Easter, all! Happy Passover!

Or, in my case, Happy Sunday!

Growing up, holidays were a big thing around my house. My mom decorates for seven holidays a year, I believe, and we had family traditions affiliated with so many of those days. Cards and chocolate and little presents after dinner on Valentine’s Day, barbecues and fireworks on the 4th of July. Thanksgiving, of course, and Christmas.

But also the downtown parade and wearing green and corned beef and cabbage on St. Patty’s Day. Even after we left home, my mom would call on that day to say “Top ‘o the morning to you!” — and the correct response: “And the rest of the day to you” — was something we had ready to go when we heard the phone ring.

Easter was at my grandparents’ house for so many years. We’d dye dozens of eggs with my grandpa to prep for the big Easter hunt, where I would marvel at just how terrible my cousins were at hunting for eggs. (I have a long and illustrious Easter egg hunt winning history) Waking up to jam-packed Easter baskets. New spring dresses and shoes — even though Montana springs included blustery days on the edge of snow more often than not — and morning church and a brunch buffet somewhere with my aunts and uncles and cousins. 

I think one of the most exciting things about Easter was that it typically signaled the end of a very long winter. Spring was springing — or trying to, at least — and there was a sense of newness that you don’t so much get in a place without seasons. I miss that.

So today is just another Sunday. I’m eating some Cadbury Mini Eggs and watching The Americans and gearing up to get some work done. But I took myself out to breakfast. I’m doing some spring cleaning around the house. And I’m looking toward having some people over one of these days, supplementing those holiday get togethers, drawing people together just because.