As here in
Israel today is a working, normal day, after I took Maya to the kindy (and I
regret it now, I should’ve keep her at home with me, maybe I would've felt better), I ate alone my Easter
brunch and remembered the ones from my childhood – the only nice memories that
I have about holidays.
I recall our Easter breakfasts, our
small kitchen and us, the four kids, around it, and the table heavy with food:
dyed eggs, ham, spring onions, radishes, Romanian ricotta – "urda", the best
ricotta there is, and "kash" – hard, unsalted cheese made from sheep’s milk and
the home-made bread with a thick, crunchy crust. And the lunches, even better, sorrel soup with lamb and rice, stuffed lamb with new potatoes and lettuce. Then, the pound cakes, sweet and filled with nuts and sugar...
After I grew
up and left home Easter was never the same and now I’ve lost hope that it would
ever be.
My husband,
desperate to see me so sad and depressed every major Christian holiday keeps
asking me what would really made me happy…And the truth is, I don’t know… I am
aware that I cannot move back time and re-live the good times. I am stuck here, in limbo, between the past that haunts me and the
present that doesn’t suit me at all.
But, enough of this, today is Easter and I going to wait until Maya gets home from the kindy and then we'll clink and knock Easter eggs until their shells break and we'll say "Christos a Inviat" - "Christ has risen" and I'm sure Maya will want to draw a picture of us...And we'll invent our own traditions, because I want Maya to have happy childhood memories too...
