My childhood did not contain plastic candy-filled Easter eggs. Mom would dye a dozen hard-boiled eggs and hide them in the house, because never was there an Easter Sunday where your pretty dress could be seen underneath the winter coat you had to wear. Thus, no eggs were hidden outside by The Bunny.
One year we couldn’t find an egg. My mother had four children, so exhaustion had to play a role in forgetting the hiding spots. We even had a dog who could have sniffed it out, but no such luck. It was months before it was found on the floor behind a curtain, leaving us to consider it was a dud egg since it never even emitted an odor.
These are the fond childhood memories of Easter I retain: the bowl hat, the dud egg, and cold weather.
Thankfully, maturity brought me to the true understanding of Easter and the joy of being able to sing, “Alleluia,” again. I still dye eggs and wear my winter gear most years. Alleluia!