oliver the map: oliver’s travels

Momma and Daddy are trying to create a ritual and a tradition for you out of  a hodge-podge of our own. I didn’t hunt for Easter eggs when I was little, except for one time I can remember. What I remember from Easter is sunrise service. I was dressed in my little Easter outfit and then layered up with a bulky coat that didn’t match, because, invariably, it was very chilly at sunrise on Easter in middle Tennessee. We didn’t make a sunrise service this year, but plan to add it to next year’s routine.

From Daddy’s childhood, we colored eggs in the traditional Greek Easter red. Yia-Yia brought us some dye from Greece—the dark, blood red powder, that when mixed with water, really sticks to the shell and seeps into the hard-boiled egg underneath. Who knows what chemicals that stuff is made of! You and I walked to Kroger expressly to get some white eggs; we usually buy brown. As is customary, you were helping me put groceries away, and broke 9 of the dozen. Daddy and Papou made a special trip to get some more. 

Daddy hid the eggs with our neighbor, and you and Tanner hunted for them together. Every egg you found, you wanted to eat immediately. The whole idea of collecting them in a little basket was lost on you. If you found a dyed, hard-boiled one, you rushed to a hard surface—often the sidewalk—and broke the egg and then brought it proudly to me to peel for you. You are quite familiar with and quite fond of eggs in this form. If it was a plastic egg filled with jelly beans or chocolate, you promptly popped it open and began to eat the treasure inside. Patience is something we are still working on. 

Christos anesti, little bug. Christ is risen!