When I was a kid, my parents would start Easter Sunday with sending me into the garden (still wearing my pyjamas) to find Easter eggs and a little present. However: no Easter bunny was involved in the hiding of these eggs. Over here, it were the winged “Easter Bells”, flying all the way to Rome and back, who would drop the eggs in our garden. My granddad would make this tale even more convincing by hiding the eggs way up in the trees – indulging me in my forbidden hobby of tree climbing. Not always to my mom’s liking, ‘cause warm or cold, rain or sunshine, on Easter I wore my new summer dress.
The hiding of the eggs in the garden has remained a tradition in our family to this very day. Every year on Easter, you can find me walking through the wet grass, looking for chocolate in the by now familiar spots. (Although the hiding skills of my parents are not be underestimated, as I discovered once again this year). This mini-expedition is always followed by a food-coma inducing Easter brunch.
P and his mom were also present this year…. as we had a little extra something to celebrate! Unfortunately I can’t reveal yet what it’s all about – but I promise you’ll find out soon. Stay tuned…
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