Sunday, March 27, 2016

The Easter Bunny in the Rock Wall


For a few years now my granddaughter and I have been tracking a bunny we've seen out back-by the barn, hiding in the garden and disappearing in the rock wall. My granddaughter has always felt the bunny is no ordinary bunny. She's convinced it is the Easter Bunny.

We didn't see the bunny all last summer or fall. But a few weeks ago when her little brother was here for an overnight, we both saw the bunny by the rock wall. We were so excited. I'd thought the worst had happened but the bunny proved me wrong. Adding to the excitement of seeing bunny, I'm certain I saw a few little ones skampering along beside her.

Last evening, the night before Easter, with the geese flying and the sun setting over the fields, I went out back for a walk. I didn't get very far. As I came up the incline near the rock wall, I was astonished to find colorful Easter eggs lying in the grass. They were beautiful-sparkling-magical under the glow of the sun disappearing. Something told me these were not your ordinary Easter eggs. Slowly I bent down and touched one. It was a little wet. At that moment, I heard a scurrying by the rock wall. I turned and out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of a white, puffy tail. I knew it was our bunny.

That's when I realized my granddaughter was right. Our bunny really is the Easter Bunny and our bunny was getting ready to go hippity hop-hopping down the Bunny trail. She'd painted the eggs and put them in the grass to dry. I'm sure she has more eggs and tons and tons of candy packed and ready to go.

You see, when you believe like a child believes, even a little bunny living out back in the rock wall really, really can be the Easter Bunny.

Saturday, March 26, 2016

Clicking Easter Shoes on Sidewalks

When I was growing up it seemed as if it was always warm outside when Easter came around. I'm certain I remember green grass, flowers blooming and the sidewalks bare. Having sidewalks bare was about as important as a basket full of candy. That's because Easter was the ultimate day for dressing up. Everything was brand new-the fancy dress, the fancy hat and white gloves, and shoes that would make a clicking sound when being pranced about the sidewalk.

Lucky for us we were blessed with a downtown full of stores. One in particular was a shoe store owned by my uncle. He carried all the latest styles for Easter. Everything from patent leather to saddle shoes. And if the shoes chosen needed polishing at some point, my mother made sure she had white liquid shoe polish in the cupboard. We never ran out of the polish since my mother was a nurse and needed to keep her duty shoes white.

So the shoe store was the first stop. It was usually busy with everyone out shopping. After the shoes were bought, wrapped, and ready to go, we went further down the street to a sprawling department store offering frilly dresses, some with layers of crinoline, shiny buttons, or matching jackets. If the weather was cool, a coat might have been added to the mix. Even more fun than picking out the dress was trying on all the hats. There were hats with pretty fabric flowers. Hats with long tassels. Hats with netting. Small hats. Hats that looked like a square box and hats that looked like a summertime sun hat. Once the hat was chosen, gloves, a purse and fancy socks were selected.

When we made it back home, everything was put carefully away until Easter. And when that day came, on went my dress with layers of crinoline. Then the fancy socks and sparkling white shoes and fancy hat usually kept in place by bobby pins. Topping everything off were my pretty gloves. Then I'd open the door and the Easter parade began. My fancy shoes would click and click on the sidewalk as up and down I went. I loved my clicky shoes. Only problem was they never stayed white for very long.

Sunday, March 20, 2016

The Old Music Box Sitting By The Front Door


Right as you come in the front door of our home sits an antique table and on top of that table sits a small collection of things-all treasures in one way or another. I can't say why something ends up there. I do know every single piece offers meaning as you enter the old place that used to be part of a working farm but has long since ceased operation. Perhaps the most interesting and most popular item on that oblong table, judging by my little granddaughter's reaction, is the antique music box.

I don't know how I ended up with the family heirloom. My grandmother must have given it to me at one point because I do recall talking about it with her-asking questions, rewinding it over and over. I remember the music box sitting on top of bookshelves in the living room of the smaller home where my grandparents moved after selling their farmhouse. But how and when it came into my possession is a blur. I'm just glad it did. Now, whenever I come in the house or walk by it, I am happy to see it sitting there amongst the old candlesticks and crocks and tins and a rock with the word, "Welcome", painted on it. More often than not, I think back to those times when I was young and loved turning the key on the bottom to listen to Lara's Theme. My granddaughter does the same. Sometimes she'll carefully pick it up and take it into the living room where she'll ask me to play the pretty song. A "few" times I've told her a little bit about the movie associated with Lara's Theme. She knows I went to see it more than once. She knows about the pretty woman and the doctor walking into what looks like an ice castle and how they travelled by sleigh to get there.

Out of curiosity I looked up Reuge-the maker of the music box. It is a family business with its beginnings based in Sainte-Croix, Switzerland, started in the late 1800s. To learn the music box has roots reaching back to the Alps didn't surprise me. I don't know why but I knew there were museums located in that region dedicated to music boxes and singing birds. I love history. To me, everything has a history-a story. Even a little music box now sitting by my front door and when you wind it up, it plays a most beautiful love song.