I associate this time of year with the Spring Equinox, rather than the “Easter” of Christianity. Eric is Jewish, and I am drawn to interfaith spirituality. Still, I have terrific memories worthy of recall and sharing.
My mother is an artist, although she doesn’t think of herself that way. Her expression was through being a stay-at-home mom who colored with us as intentionally and passionately as Picasso painted.
My bedroom shared a wall with my brothers. Every Easter, I believe without fail, we would awaken to find exquisite, handmade Easter baskets, complete with colored plastic wrap and bows, sitting on a bench between our bedrooms. I took them for granted, until I was old enough to appreciate the time, love and creativity that went into preparing each one. There were also favorites from See’s Candy, and I especially loved the eggs with edible scenes inside—only, we saved them.
One Easter our local store—a wonderful pink building probably not a half-mile from our house—opened its doors for a neighborhood Easter egg hunt. The owners tucked store shelves, complete with groceries, with various eggs and treasures. I thought it was so neat. I didn’t even think to steal anything, but somebody might have. The spaciousness in their trust stays with me.
When I was 15, following in my big brother’s footsteps, I took my turn working for a local five and dime. It was on Grand Avenue in South San Francisco, managed by Mr. Pedersen. Contrary to my early experience of trust, Mr. Pedersen had a clenched fist and, I think, heart. He wanted to trust, but my teenage intuition told me he didn’t. One spring Tony and I worked together, usually in the stockroom (no hanky-panky—I was mature, and he was gay besides). We were instructed how to make the lovely Easter baskets you see for sale this time of year. Only, we couldn’t believe the false advertising. The baskets looked lusciously full, but the candy was sprinkled on the surface of a ton of plastic grass. Well…at least, that’s what we were told to do.
In the spirit of Robin Hood, Tony and I took matters into our own justice-minded hearts and hands. The Easter that Tony and I worked at Ben Franklin 5&10, suffice it to say, those kids got lucky.
Then, we were only allowed to eat candy that arrived broken. Duh. I can’t tell you the number of boxes of hollow chocolate bunnies that got slammed against the ceiling. One of us would be the lookout, the other the launchpad: Ooops! We laughed so hard our bellies hurt, then enjoyed the spoils.
What I love about this time of year, whether its form for you takes Easter as holiday, or Easter as Jesus’ resurrection, or Spring Equinox, is it’s renewal. My runs this past week have indulged all senses, with the profusion of blooming trees—sweet, tender petals snowing all around me with the barest hint of breeze, giving way to leaf in bud. Other Davis trees are a violet-magenta that, set against the new green grasses, take my breath away. I run in an area around Wildhorse Golf Course that is a nature preserve, a 3.5 mile path that reminds me of the grids in Colorado. Baby bunnies and squirrels and owls entertain me along the way.
There’s a Buddhist concept called Beginner’s Mind—releasing preconceived ideas and viewing everything like a small child. If for whatever reason you’re not feeling renewed today, I urge you to stop and breathe. If the things or people that worry you were gone tomorrow—as they will be someday—how might that knowledge change your enjoyment and acceptance of this moment? Look around you, wherever you are this moment, with “Baby’s Eyes.” The world is, really, still that fresh.
