Easter Sunday and I was headed to church. Looking at myself before I left home, I couldn't help but giggle. My mama and my Big Mama would have been so ashamed of me; no Easter bonnet crowned my head. With that I thought back many years ago, to what may have been my first time to skip Easter church.
With no new clothes to wear, much less a flowered chapeau, earlier in the day I had made a decision.
"We've been to church the last three Sundays. This is the day everybody likes to see and be seen in their finest clothes. Nobody's had any 75 percent off sales, so I don't have a new outfit," I said to my husband, Willard. "Besides, we're having our family over for an Easter egg hunt and a late lunch. I still have a lot to do."
With that decision made, I left the house to go on my early morning excursion with our old lady dog, June Cleaver. Unfortunately, on the walk she had gone into attack mode after a younger dog. Trying to hold The Cleave, I fell on the sidewalk and scraped my knee. Back home, with no Band-Aids in the house, I put together a makeshift bandage of duct tape and toilet paper. Once again, I thought, as I already had several times this morning, that I should have gone to church and picked up some take-out food for our lunch crowd.
Dressed in out-of-season clothes and waiting for our company, I looked at myself in the mirror. My hair was in between colors and perms. My eyebrows hadn't been dyed, so they were rabbit fur gray. My face resembled a stuffed egg that had been left out in the sunshine for several weeks--and we could have hidden Easter eggs in my neck folds. And they might not have been found until they rotted and smelled to high heaven.
I pinned a false hair piece on my head, hoping it might provide a much-needed pickup and once again checked myself in the mirror. It was not a pretty sight. Instead of an "I Dream Of Jeannie" hairdo, mine looked for all the world like an artificial tail hanging from a show horse.
Just then the doorbell rang, and forgetting about the fake blond tresses clamped to my head, I hurried to the front of the house.
The first grandson through the door laughed. "Hair 'em, scare 'em."
"That's a hair-raising sight," another family member hooted.
As everybody came in, the kindest words that were uttered were, "Well, as I live and breathe. Who rubbed your bottle and let you out, Grand Lottie?
There is a picture of every person at my house on Easter Day but one. Guess who? I did NOT let anybody take my picture.
Everyone there and done with the egg hunt, we were ready to eat. Our family is such that I never know how many we'll have—10, 20, or 30. On this day we had 21 adults, one toddler and three infants. And as we always do, we blessed the food with son, Bill, leading us in prayer. "Let us bow our heads."
"Heavenly Father, we are so fortunate."
June Cleaver, who was used to being the treasured center of attention when it was only Willard and me had been relegated to the outside courtyard. Desperate to get in, jump on people and torpedo sniff, she began howling as Bill continued with our blessing.
"To gather here as a family..."
In the background, a four-year old great-grandson who had fallen out of a tree quietly sobbed into a pink linen napkin decorated with blue Easter bunnies and green and yellow eggs. He had rejected the offer of a toilet paper and duct tape Band-Aid substitute.
"For this, our food that has been prepared and that we are about to receive," Bill went on with his prayer,
"Pork and beans make me puke," the four-year old whined.
Of the three infants at the house, each one had been engaged in some form of bodily function, the mildest of which was fretting and crying as Bill closed with, "Bless this food to our nourishment, and our bodies to Thy service."
I added my own silent addendum to the family prayer.
Next year: 75 percent off sale or not, I am going to buy me a new outfit. Fifty is good.
We are making reservations at the Jackson Country Club for the buffet lunch.
I will have my eyebrows and hair dyed. A new permanent. An appointment with a plastic surgeon may be in the near future.
And I say this respectfully. Gracious Lord, next Easter I will be in church and celebrating your resurrection.
