The week before Easter, 245 Elias Drive was always a
flurry of excitement! After a long winter, Christmas was but a distant memory
and the same toys Santa thoughtfully delivered just months before seemed old
and stale. What the Kirk kids desperately needed was a pick me up and what a
better jolt for their bored souls than chocolate. Chocolate eggs, chocolate
bunnies, chocolate crosses--any type, shape or size would do--but never, ever
white chocolate. White chocolate of any type was akin to receiving a lump of
coal in your Christmas stocking. We all abhorred it. But no matter how
many times we told our parents to tell the Easter Bunny not to give us white chocolate, inevitably there always
seemed to be a piece in our basket which mysteriously disappeared within days.
The week before Easter not only brought excitement, for some of us, it brought dread--specifically me. In my childlike mind, there could be nothing more boring than spending an entire day shopping and trying on clothes. And for reasons known only to my mother and grandmother, my brothers never had to go along. As the only granddaughter of Ann Kirk, who having never had a daughter of her own, l received all the girly dotting and spoiling stashed away in her heart but never able to be used. It gave her immense enjoyment outfitting a little girl so, she and I would take the annual spring streetcar ride first to Squirrel Hill then to downtown Pittsburgh. Excursions such as these took place each and every holiday of the year and were exactly like the shopping scene on Rodeo Drive Beverly Hills in the movie Pretty Women -- profane and expensive!
Store after store, I found myself sitting alone in a little dressing room impatiently waiting, while the sales woman and my grandmother carefully made their selections and brought in dress after dress and hat after scratchy, straw hat for me to try on until my grandmother was certain that I looked Easter perfect. My ensemble was complete-- a dress, coat, gloves, anklets, patent leather shoes, purse and the ever-loathed, scratchy straw hat with its throat-choking elastic band. As hard as I pleaded and tried to persuade her that I could keep a hat on my head without the stretchy thread, it was to no avail. She was certain the early spring winds would blow it off and I was resigned to wearing a hat that would gouge my throat and chin all day long. With little concern for my comfort, there was even less for safety. Easter morning, a new pair of patent leather shoes would be buckled on my feet without thought to the slick leather bottoms that were like walking on a sheet of ice. After my first several slips and falls, a piece of tape would only then be applied to the bottoms of my shoes.
With my outfit officially purchased and shopping complete, we always ended the excursion with a great meal at Stouffer's Restaurant where she allowed me to order anything on the menu. Despite encouragement to order things she thought I should learn to enjoy, I always selected the same things -- grilled cheese, mushroom soup and tapioca pudding! It was here that I received dining table etiquette training better than Emily Post herself. Elbows off the table. Napkin and hand in lap. Gloves off. Soup bowl tilted backwards along with the direction of the correct spoon. After a long day in town, we road the streetcar back up Forbes Avenue to Shadyside and all that remained was the anticipation of the bunny to arrive with a plethora of goodies in my basket.
The night before Easter, all the Kirk kids had baths and I received my weekly Saturday night hair washing which I hated. Thankfully, my mom had given up on the frizzy, awful smelling Toni perms that year and simply set my hair in pin curls. In the morning, I would have beautiful curls for church--or so she thought.
Bright and early Sunday morning my brothers and I awoke and raced downstairs to hunt for our hidden baskets. Quickly finding mine, I peered into it and noticed not only the colorful, dyed Easter eggs and assorted chocolate candies, but an amazing bunny-shaped cake oozing with fluffy white icing! And then it all happened so quickly! I don’t quite remember how or why, but for some reason, my brother, Jimbo and I got into a squabble. And the next thing I knew, he smashed his icing-filled bunny cake right onto my head and hair. Dumbfounded, I stood there looking at my mom and she did not look happy. My mom never swore, but that morning I heard her bellow loudly somewhat of a prayer. Jesus, Mary and Joseph! And with that, my head was under the bath faucet getting washed for the 2nd time in a week.
I don’t remember how I looked going to church that morning, but I’m sure I was thankful for my throat-choking, scratchy straw hat to hide my head as I was no longer Easter perfect. In fact, smashed cake or not, I can humbly say that I can never, ever be perfect because I’m as flawed on the inside as my hair was on the outside that Easter morning so long ago. But thankfully, there is something better than a straw hat to cover my imperfections. I have Easter and a Savior who washes away all the dirt... all the cake...all the flaws.... and makes me, as well as all of you, Easter Perfect! And that’s the Good News!
Happy Easter to all my family and friends! He is Risen!
The week before Easter not only brought excitement, for some of us, it brought dread--specifically me. In my childlike mind, there could be nothing more boring than spending an entire day shopping and trying on clothes. And for reasons known only to my mother and grandmother, my brothers never had to go along. As the only granddaughter of Ann Kirk, who having never had a daughter of her own, l received all the girly dotting and spoiling stashed away in her heart but never able to be used. It gave her immense enjoyment outfitting a little girl so, she and I would take the annual spring streetcar ride first to Squirrel Hill then to downtown Pittsburgh. Excursions such as these took place each and every holiday of the year and were exactly like the shopping scene on Rodeo Drive Beverly Hills in the movie Pretty Women -- profane and expensive!
Store after store, I found myself sitting alone in a little dressing room impatiently waiting, while the sales woman and my grandmother carefully made their selections and brought in dress after dress and hat after scratchy, straw hat for me to try on until my grandmother was certain that I looked Easter perfect. My ensemble was complete-- a dress, coat, gloves, anklets, patent leather shoes, purse and the ever-loathed, scratchy straw hat with its throat-choking elastic band. As hard as I pleaded and tried to persuade her that I could keep a hat on my head without the stretchy thread, it was to no avail. She was certain the early spring winds would blow it off and I was resigned to wearing a hat that would gouge my throat and chin all day long. With little concern for my comfort, there was even less for safety. Easter morning, a new pair of patent leather shoes would be buckled on my feet without thought to the slick leather bottoms that were like walking on a sheet of ice. After my first several slips and falls, a piece of tape would only then be applied to the bottoms of my shoes.
With my outfit officially purchased and shopping complete, we always ended the excursion with a great meal at Stouffer's Restaurant where she allowed me to order anything on the menu. Despite encouragement to order things she thought I should learn to enjoy, I always selected the same things -- grilled cheese, mushroom soup and tapioca pudding! It was here that I received dining table etiquette training better than Emily Post herself. Elbows off the table. Napkin and hand in lap. Gloves off. Soup bowl tilted backwards along with the direction of the correct spoon. After a long day in town, we road the streetcar back up Forbes Avenue to Shadyside and all that remained was the anticipation of the bunny to arrive with a plethora of goodies in my basket.
The night before Easter, all the Kirk kids had baths and I received my weekly Saturday night hair washing which I hated. Thankfully, my mom had given up on the frizzy, awful smelling Toni perms that year and simply set my hair in pin curls. In the morning, I would have beautiful curls for church--or so she thought.
Bright and early Sunday morning my brothers and I awoke and raced downstairs to hunt for our hidden baskets. Quickly finding mine, I peered into it and noticed not only the colorful, dyed Easter eggs and assorted chocolate candies, but an amazing bunny-shaped cake oozing with fluffy white icing! And then it all happened so quickly! I don’t quite remember how or why, but for some reason, my brother, Jimbo and I got into a squabble. And the next thing I knew, he smashed his icing-filled bunny cake right onto my head and hair. Dumbfounded, I stood there looking at my mom and she did not look happy. My mom never swore, but that morning I heard her bellow loudly somewhat of a prayer. Jesus, Mary and Joseph! And with that, my head was under the bath faucet getting washed for the 2nd time in a week.
I don’t remember how I looked going to church that morning, but I’m sure I was thankful for my throat-choking, scratchy straw hat to hide my head as I was no longer Easter perfect. In fact, smashed cake or not, I can humbly say that I can never, ever be perfect because I’m as flawed on the inside as my hair was on the outside that Easter morning so long ago. But thankfully, there is something better than a straw hat to cover my imperfections. I have Easter and a Savior who washes away all the dirt... all the cake...all the flaws.... and makes me, as well as all of you, Easter Perfect! And that’s the Good News!
Happy Easter to all my family and friends! He is Risen!
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