Easter for us arrives with the vernal equinox. Unfortunately for us, however, we did not have a repeat of last year's warm temperatures. We've had one day that neared 70F this month and there's very little green around and so far, we have only one lonely crocus blooming. We did have bright sunshine and most of the snow had melted (even though, as I write, a sticky snow is falling and has already coated the the trees.) Ah spring!
Expecting family for dinner later in the day, Alex prepared a lemon meringue pie. (Note, we shall look for a new recipe and cross out the ill-conceived recipe in one rather famous cook book.) Still, his pie looked and tasted great, even if it didn't come out as the recipe promised.
While the pie was being assembled, Olivia played for us. I spent a few moments enjoying the prettiness of Easter in our home.
Late morning, we urged the kids outside to hunt for eggs. I remember other years when they seemed so small and these years seemed such a long way off. Now look at them. I find myself having many more of these moments these days; moments of stunning realization that my two babies aren't babies any longer (frequently this knowing is coupled with the sense that they are allowing me these traditions, these markers of their childhood, as if they know I know and how fleeting it all seems for me. Don't listen to people who tell you children aren't wise.)
Later, as we gathered around the table with family, I listened to our children discuss current events and politics, among other things, and all I could think was these two young people can hold their own. They are of strong minds and hearts and how very fortunate we are to be in their presence.
So we marked the vernal equinox. With baskets and eggs in colors of the dawn, we greeted spring and the coming growing season. The pie didn't set, the day wasn't warm, a few other things were amiss, and in some ways the day was imperfect, though perfect was never the goal, so I'm not sure that is the correct word. Whether it was the change in light, the perigee moon, the change we could feel coming, the anticipation perhaps, that tinted everything with a slightly dream-like, tilted quality, the day was celebrated, welcomed and will be remembered. Like the equinox, the day was in equal balance of positive and negative, light to dark, day to night. Someday we'll say to each other, remember that spring when you were eleven? When you were fourteen, and Daddy's pie didn't set, but we ate it anyway and it was like lemon sauce? Remember that?