This year's Easter Weekend was so different from those in the past. There have been few Easters when my children and grandchildren have not gathered at my house. This year, none of the children or grandchildren were here. It seemed a bit quiet. Quiet is good sometimes. This year, I knew I just did not have the energy to entertain. Also, my daughter who lives the closest had been traveling for her job for several weeks and naturally needed a weekend at home before she went on the next leg of work travel.
The Easter Weekend was mostly spent resting. Good Friday services at church prepared my soul for an even more joyful Easter. As we left the communion table on Friday night, we were asked to refrain from greeting each other until we reached the foyer outside the sanctuary so that we might remember the Body broken for us and the Blood shed for us. The memory of a large congregation leaving silently after the service continues to touch me. A dear friend hugged me momentarily as we made our way to the middle of the foyer, we parted silently and left the building with others still in silence. In today's world, we have so few times when we actually experience corporate reverence expressed in silence. As I left the church building, home of the church where I first began attending over thirty years ago, I was moved to gratitude as I reflected on the beauty of the service, the powerful sermon we had heard, and the overwhelming sense of homecoming that flooded my heart and mind. Seeing the snow covered Pikes Peak looming large in the western sky anchors me always as it speaks of home and links me to my girlhood.
Hoping to buy a home with a view of Pikes Peak when we moved to my hometown in October of 2012, I moved that desire down on the list when we found our current home in the beautiful and peaceful Woodmen Valley. Now, Blodgett Peak, with an altitude of 9, 423 ft. is a mountain peak I am growing to love as I watch her throughout the day. At times, I watch storms descend, rolling down her sides, or watch as snow softly dusts her crown. On our way home from church on Good Friday, I captured a view of the sun setting at the foot of valley in which I live. Blues, and shades of grey or light purple colored the sky. The brilliant focal point of orange and yellow was perfectly framed by the deep blue black purple hues of the mountains that surround the dip between peaks. (Blodgett is on the left side of the dip.) Times like these on the journey towards home truly refresh my soul and bring great joy, peace, and hope.
On Sunday, after a joy filled Easter church service, my husband took me to The Margarita at Pine Creek for the brunch. Our meal, as every meal there always is, was melt in the mouth good. As we enjoyed eating the coffee cake served before the three course meal, we both spoke of summer and how we looked forward to coming to this place for farmer's market every Saturday. I go for the produce and the coffee cake we purchase to eat as we listen to local bands on lazy Saturday mornings. My husband goes for the coffee cake. Summer is coming, and the harvest. I don't want to rush things, but it is coming.
Later in the day, inspired by thinking of Easters gone by after my cousin wrote on Facebook how the memory of my beautiful mother's soprano voice came flooding back to her as she sang an Easter hymn in church that morning. She asked my now nearly 98 year old mother to call her and sing to her. Yes, mother's voice is still beautiful, and it blesses me each time I have the opportunity to stand beside her in church. I knew somewhere in my photos I had this photo of an Easter Sunday from my childhood. In some ways, it is the quintessential photo that illustrates much of my earliest family traditions.
Taken in 1952 at my aunt and uncle's home either before or just after church, dressed in the turquoise colored raw silk dress made by mother and patterned after the dress she made herself, I am surrounded by those whom walked through childhood with me: my mother, my sister, the one just smaller than I, my brother, dressed in coat and tie, my dear Aunt Katherine, my closest friend and cousin, Donna, born just ten days after I, her brother David, and her youngest sister, Diana. My childhood centered around family, faith, and hometown schools and neighborhoods. My father, not in the photo, received our smiles. My uncle, one always on the night shift at the railroad, was probably sleeping.
|David, Rell, Donna, Sally, Carol and Diana|
Alberta (Mother) and Aunt Katherine
Colorado Springs, Colorado
|Boston is keeping that bone safe from Nelly|
|Dian Regan Curtis|
Here is a photo of our hosts, the happy newly weds, with Nelly who just recently turned one. S has to deal with two red heads. I'm sure this keeps him on his toes.
|Mother, Rell, Aunt Katherine|
Sally and Donna