One of my favorite childhood memories was Easter Sunday morning. I loved getting up and finding that the Easter Bunny had come. My brothers and I always got baskets full of treats, including the typical chocolate bunny that you should always begin eating by biting off the ears.
But even better than that was getting to wear my new Easter dress. For years, my mother made my dresses, as she did a lot of my clothes. We always went to the sewing supply store, and I got to pick out the fabric for my dress. It was mostly fun, except for those years when my mother decided that my brothers and I had to match. I didn’t like that too much. The fabric I picked out never meshed with what the boys wanted.
But in the end, I always wound up with a pretty new frock, and I was proud to wear it. I knew that no one else would have a dress like mine.
Another tradition I enjoyed was the annual Easter egg hunt at the church. I loved coloring and decorating the eggs, and the hunt itself was always fun. There was lots of candy and we actually got to eat the boiled eggs we found. Well...I ate the white part. I didn’t eat the yolks. There was this bucktoothed boy in my Sunday School class who disposed of those for me.
With the way things are today, I’m not sure parents would let their kids eat the boiled eggs. Do they even use them anymore? I think they’ve gone to the plastic ones, filled with candy or little prizes. That kind of makes me sad. It’s no fun if you can’t get one of those little kits, some vinegar in cups, and then dip those eggs until they’re just the right shades of pink, blue and green.
Easter Sunday was something else. There were always so many people there...people we hadn’t seen since...well, Christmas...or maybe the previous Easter. And everyone was all decked out in their new clothes.
I’m not sure who thought up that tradition. Why is it necessary to go out and get a new dress or suit for Easter? Aren’t you supposed to look nice every Sunday morning? Or for that matter...does it really matter what you wear to church? Aren’t you supposed to be accepted there no matter what you wear?
I suppose the tradition is stronger in the South. When I lived in Oregon, it didn’t seem that new clothes on Easter was that big of a deal.
Whatever the reason, I am glad I got to participate in it when I was a child. I had the coolest dresses around...handmade by my Mama.
And that’s even better than having a bucktoothed boy to eat the yolks for you.

I love daffodils. I've loved them since I was a child.
Maybe it was because they heralded the beginning of spring. The weather changed, the days became longer, and we were able to stay outside and play longer.
Maybe it was because they were so readily available. They were everywhere! My dad built me a "playhouse" when I was a little girl, and I had it all decorated. My mom made me curtains, I had a refrigerator, sink, stove, dishes, and a little table with chairs. I loved to play house and would spend hours doing so. And in the spring, I always picked tons of daffodils, and I'd sneak a glass from the house, fill it with water, and put my daffodils in the center of my little table.
I think the reason I loved daffodils so much was not so much their appearance or when they bloomed, but because of their bravery. Where I grew up, they were the first flowers to bloom in the spring. To break through the cold, hard ground and reach for the sky took a lot of guts, especially when you were the first to do it.
That's what I think of now that I'm an adult. When I see daffodils in bloom, I think about their bravery, and wonder, "Could I be that brave? Could I break through difficult circumstances, when no one has cleared the path?"
I love the bright, sunny color of the daffodils, and how they seem to dance in the wind. They reach toward the sun...and dance.
I have learned from these beautiful little flowers. I will break through the tough times. I will reach toward the Son, and dance in the wind.

Daffodils - By William Wordsworth


I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.


Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.


The waves beside them danced, but they

Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;

A poet could not be but gay,

In such a jocund company!

I gazed—and gazed—but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:


For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.