Blue, Blue Easter

EASTER SUNDAY GROWING up in my family always meant the same thing- egg hunts and fresh Southern California, welcome to the Spring time and 80 degrees, melted chocolate. Those were the two certainties of waking up knowing that we were going to spend that day trudging around the Grandparents outdated, hydrangea drenched backyard. Having grown older (and undoubtedly wiser?) I've come to realize that the routine of Richard and Lillian Boss on Easter Sunday goes somewhat as follows:

• Wake up, as every morning, at 6 am. Hiding the eggs today is priority number one, the earlier the better in order to avoid a long concentration of direct sun.
  
• Grandpa brews the coffee, while Grandma peruses the yard hiding plastic eggs that, if in human form, would be classified as dull or depressed due to a lack of vibrant color.
  
• The 7 baskets (one for each kid in the family) are placed on the 40 year old un-weathered patio furniture next to the backdoor. 5 dollars in each basket and job done. Breakfast time, 7 am.
  
• The family arrive always with a lack of promptness around noon (1pm)
• Needless to say, the eggs have been left in the sun for half a day, the chocolate is syrup in a foil wrapper. I wouldn't be surprised if they put raw eggs out in the morning, knowing that they would cook and become "hardboiled" by the time we arrived.

Living North of Los Angeles, by the San Gabriel Mountains, in an area that many consider to be an extension of the valley, the heat kicks in at the end of March and grows progressively stronger until mid September. For this reason, Easter in my mind is characterized by extraordinary blue skies, a re-emerging heat and melted chocolate. As a result, I felt lost spending the Easter of 2010 in the snow of Park City, Utah, having lobster and remote control car races on the hard wood floors of their overly sprawling, "we spend too much time indoors", mountain getaway.

-- Greg Boss