Bonnets, Bunnies and Bath Toys

Well, another Easter has come and gone. Like many other workers, I worked my usual Friday through Sunday weekend shifts so there was no big dinner or family gathering for me. I actually prefer working on weekends and holidays. I think young people should be able to be home with their children, as much as possible—after all, the kids are the ones holidays mean the most to anyway—and I really no place better to be.

Easter was a special time in my family when I was a youngster. We all got a new set of clothes from the skin out. There were frilly dresses and slips, lace-edged panties and socks, and black or white, patent leather shoes for the girls, new shirts, slacks, ties, and leather shoes for the boys. There was the dawn raid on our baskets chock-filled with chocolate bunnies, jelly beans and marshmallow peeps, a frantic race for the colored eggs outside, a quick breakfast of sugary cereal before Sunday school, and then the long drive to my dad’s parents’ house for the culmination of festivities. I continued that tradition with my children at my in-laws.

Like my mother, I couldn’t go home to my parents’ home for holidays. Her mom died when she was 4 years old; and we lost mom when she was only 42.

Like her, I started out making new Easter outfits for my girls. One year I went so far as to make perilously cute, matching dresses for my older two and myself in white, dotted swiss with red and blue nosegays on the fabric. The girls even had matching bonnets trimmed in lace. Another year I made them lavender dresses with lacy slips. (By the time my youngest came along, Sears was my best friend; sorry, honey.) All in all, in their homemade gowns or haute couture by Sears or Penney’s, they were dressed adorably, and probably hated every minute of it.

Easter was also a bonanza for new toys. Sometimes it would be something small like plastic pails and shovels, bubble wands, slinkys, or wheel-o’s. Sometimes it could be major like a tricycle or Big Wheel. Around our house, it often included some kind of bath toy by Fisher Price. I still have a particularly embarrassing, non-xrated, picture of my ex in the tub, playing with a waterwheel one of the kids got from the Easter bunny!

Sigh, those were the days!

We had a relentless stream of customers all weekend, and especially yesterday. I caught myself wondering what happened to the days when families packed into their cars with their potato salad, jello fruit salad, or coconut lamb cakes, descended on that year’s designated hosts, ate too much, played cards, horseshoes, or board games, and generally visited and uselessly lolled around someone's house until dark, and finally dragged their over-tired, over-fed, over-stimulated selves home for a final chocolate orgy before bedtime.

Perhaps, like me, our towns are filled with singles who have no family table to gather around. Perhaps they have too much family gathered in their home and need a break from them. Perhaps, like one young man who came in ranting about ‘what was the big deal,’ some people have had their expectations for holidays dashed, or unresolved, or maybe they’re still in post-adolescent rebellion against the celebrations of their childhood. Who knows what sours them against holidays, but you can be sure there’s a story behind it that you probably DON’T want to know.

I met a young woman at Starbucks on my way into work. She was driving a lovely, pale green, (Easter egg colored!) VW, and I was reminded of one particular Easter at my grandparents.

My dad’s cousin, Jean, had become the proud owner of a brand-new VW Bug, the very first of this species in our town. My grandfather, a man with a wicked sense of humor and a ready camera commemorated this grand occasion with a home movie. He meticulously staged the entire event, starting with Jean pulling into the driveway, with a couple of people in the front and back seat with her. Then he stopped filming and had the rest of the family hide along the passenger side of the car, which was carefully kept out of camera range, and directed all 20 or 30 of us to climb through the car and line up beside the car, as if we had all been inside. He stopped again, handed the camera to my grandma, and then he crawled out of the car, looking very much as though the rest of the gang had been sitting on top of him, he straightened up, stretched, grinned at the lens and joined the rest of the group.

In the age of digital cameras and instant gratification, this may not mean much to today’s kids, but back in the 50s, this kind of family home movie was a big deal and a great source of entertainment. It was hilarious and we had so much fun doing it we were all laughing like loons and grinning like Cheshire cats! We knew it was a clever prank, and, I have to tell you, we could hardly wait for him to get the film developed so we could all gather again to watch it!

My family has been known for being ahead of the times in modern marvels, though. They had cars, cameras and even windmill-driven, in-door plumbing before anyone else in the area. One of my great-great grandmothers was worried that her daughter was endangering her family’s health with too much bathing!

There were home movies of family get-togethers from the days when my dad was 10 or 12. The family gathering was so large they would eat in the yard, weather permitting, on long tables made of planks and sawhorses. Everyone would bring a dish or two that would be praised and savored by the rest. The meal was featured in the movies with this aunt or cousin, with her spouse and children, coming out the kitchen door and showing off her specialty to the cameraman. Of course, this was too tame for my dad, whose nickname was “Johnny-jump-up.” He came through the house with his parents, ran back in, and came out again to jump up in front of the camera, make a silly face and race around the house to do it again!

Naturally, when we had settled down from dinner at my grandparents, Pop would drag out the screen and projector so we could relive the VW unpacking and my dad’s antics. Mom always had a hard time getting us to settle down when she finally got us out of our rumbled finery, pried the last jelly bean out of our fists, the last giggle at dad out of our system, and the last bedtime story of the night told before we could fall asleep.

I may not have been at a family dinner this year, but I can always feast on my memories of Easter past. As a wise, young man said of another holiday, “God bless us everyone!”