Eggs eggs eggs.

Once upon a time, when I was a child, Easter meant thinking hard on religious themes, being confused about it all and then and going to church for what seemed like a super long time. On Palm Sunday, a week before, I was really excited because that meant that nice lady with a fluffy cardigan gave me a palm branch to make a little woven box with, the meaning of which was completely lost to me. All I was hoping for was that my grandfather would give me his palm branch once it was woven. He was really good at weaving his little box into shape, and I'd try to mimic his moves with great care. (I would not be able to do it today if I had a gun to my temple. Well, I would probably come up with some variation.)

My grandfather had this smile in the left corner of his mouth - I suspect his mind was struggling between being kind of frustrated with me wanting his palm thing (thus not getting the meaning of it all) and finding me cute. I was, after all, the first grandchild in both families. They're always the cutest. He evidently tried to explain the whole thing to me, and I was so impressed about the part where people laid their garments and palm branches on Jesus' path I would think about it every time I walked on anything remotely leaf-like outside. I think I probably got caught once walking on my clothes on the floor in my room. Just kidding.

Nowadays, Easter becomes an excuse to eat chocolate or have a family gathering. To me, it is a great holiday, for now I get four days off to do fun things. This year, we're going to our friends' home for part of the weekend, and the weather is supposed to be lovely. We're talking twenty-two degrees and sunny. Smells like skirts, t-shirts and good music to me. Also sounds an awful lot like little paper umbrellas in drinks and dancing barefoot in the grass. (Although, at this time of year in our neck o'the woods, no grass, alas. It's okay, I'll settle for dancing close to the muck mixed with snow that will one day become grass.) Anyhow, I was talking about Easter. Sorry, I got distracted with this weekend's thing. Back to Easter.

I have been looking for a very cool recipe to make for our weekend feast. I have not found anything that made me go 'wow', so I've changed my mind. Instead, I've decided to make Easter eggs. I told The Man I would be wasting six eggs from the fridge. He smiled and said: "Oh cool when my mom did that when I was a kid it looked like a serious pain in the ass." And so off I went, trotted into the kitchen, opened the fridge, picked the nicest brown eggs from the crate (or whatever it's called), and poked holes top and bottom. Found a bowl, and blew the crap out of them to empty the shells. It was really fun. It brought me back to my childhood, to my kindergarten class, I think.

Tomorrow I will paint the eggs with acrylic, in nice patterns, and coat them with matte medium to make them nice and shiny. I'll make a nice gift basket for my friends and I'll be happy to have made an Easter thing while conjuring so many happy childhood memories.

Right now, there are six eggs drying in my dish rack and I'm working really hard not to stay up till two in the morning to paint them now.