First, his mom dropped a dozen eggs in a pot of cold water. Then she pulled the papery brown skins from some yellow onions, added the skins and a little vinegar to the pot, and set the pot over a low flame to come slowly to a boil. Then she turned off the heat and let the water return to room temperature.
His mom dried the now-brown shells of these perfectly cooked hardboiled eggs and rubbed each one with a little bacon grease from the can she kept by the stove, giving each egg a polished luster. The family ate these golden eggs every Good Friday evening with a soup of kale and boiled potatoes thickened with a little oatmeal.
This simple Good Friday meal honored the Lord’s death and prepared the way for the Easter Sunday feast, served this time with brightly colored eggs.
As my friend told me this story about the German-Kentucky family of his boyhood, his face lit up with excitement. Telling a story about something one loves, especially from the distant past, to a good friend of the present brings delight to the teller and the hearer. It deepens their present friendship and honors those about whom the story is told. Today God added his own blessing to my friend’s story-telling. And our friendship glowed with a happiness we cannot give ourselves.
2 comments:
I love stories told by others...today's post has me re-visiting my childhood and thinking of the easters I spent with my mother's 'traditions'. She would sew us look alike mother and daughter outfits, dress me up in patent leather mary-jane shoes, give me white gloves, a new tiny patent leather purse,and...to top it all off a ribbond-decorated easter bonnet! Talk about an easter parade. The funny thing about it was..everyone did that..it was the 50's, after all.
As I get older, the Easter parade fashion mentality remains a memory, and the simple Cross of Christ takes center stage.
Thanks for this fine blog, Fr. Ben...A Blessed Easter to you!
And good friends take the time to remain silent and to focus on what's being said. Thanks for sharing.
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