As a child, I loved a book called Lilies, Rabbits and Painted Eggs, by Edna Barth, with illustrations by Ursula Arndt. It told of all the pre-Christian customs and symbols of Easter. Even back then, I was a pagan.
When I was too old to be given an Easter basket, I used to make my own. Especially after I moved to the Midwest, the Rites of Spring called for celebration. I remember one year in particular when Easter coincided with the arrival of our dwarf iris, which became the finest adornments for my basket.
Over time, I became too busy and preoccupied to do the basket. I limited myself to poring over the Bissinger’s catalog of Easter treats.
This year something very special happened. I think it was a conspiracy of the Long Suffering Husband with our household gods, Rubber Chicken and Pabbie the Dozy Old Troll. With a little help from the Bunny himself, no doubt.