Putting the Oestra back in Easter
The first Sunday after the first full moon following the vernal equinox comes this weekend. For Roman Catholics (and Western Christians in general) this is Easter, which you would think would be the big holiday, but in truth it doesn’t doesn’t get nearly as much attention as Christmas or All Saints’ Eve. Except for a few Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, not many people wear Easter bonnets anymore. A little bit of whimsy has been lost.
All three of these holidays got started with the pagans. When the Roman Emperor Constantine converted, he marketed Christianity to the rest of his domain. But Rome was a party kind of empire, so there was considerable resistance to giving up fun feasts like Saturnalia, so they moved a birthday around and called it Christmas. Halloween was called Samhain in the druid culture, and it was the festival of the beginning of the dark season, where the spirits were free to visit.
Balancing out Samhain was the celebration of Light, of Ostara, the goddess of the dawn. Legend has it that the goddess Ostara turned a bird into a rabbit who laid colored eggs, and everybody liked the story so much they decided to name the holiday Oestra after her. When the Christians rebranded Oestra into Easter, they did get the part right that joy wins out because there is no payoff in sorrow. Birth and death and whatevercomes-next get celebrated.
One tradition was that they wrote the one desired change for the coming year on a leaf, then wrapped it around a seed and planted it.
Growing up in South Ozone Park, the week before Easter, we drove to Li-Lac Chocolates in Brooklyn, where Nurse Vivian bought a white chocolate cross for Pop, and bunnies for Brother X, Brother Not X and me. Afterward, we went to St. John’s Cemetery, where Grandma Sadie was buried. We spent an hour or two weeding the grave, and then we planted tulip bulbs, as Grandma Sadie hated lilies, because they reminded her of the dead. We came home and dyed eggs. In those days, we had to mix the dye with Heinz distilled apple cider vinegar, so that sharp tangy smell still reminds me of Holy Saturday, the end of Lent.
On Easter Sunday, after X and Not X had gorged themselves on those hard-boiled eggs, we went to Mass. It was the one Sunday of the year that Nurse Vivian actually wore a hat to St. Anthony of Padua Church (the other 51, she just bobby-pinned a handkerchief to her head) and afterward, we went to House of Chang with Aunt Mildred, because that is where we ate every Easter Sunday, and tradition is tradition.
Fifty years later, we Fisher-Paulsons hold on to our own piece of Ostara; we focus on the fact that life renews. Oh, the boys will still get baskets on Sunday morning, chocolate for Aidan, but hot chips and sour gummies for Zane. At some point in the next three days, I will sneak off to Shaw’s on West Portal, to get Brian a rainbow of jelly beans. For 31 years, he has acted surprised that the Easter Bunny has filled his good crystal wine glasses with candy, and I have no intention of disappointing.
This is the one weekend of the year that I actually mow the little postage stamp of a backyard. I’ll take my sons into that garden, and we will plant sunflowers or crocuses, and I’ll say, “Life gets renewed. There is no death. There is only change. A part of Nana will always be a part of Papa, and a part of Pop will always be a part of me, and some day, when our ashes feed the California lilacs, Papa and I will be a part of you. And every spring when you clear the soil, remember that each of us brings life back to the earth.” And Zane and Aidan will throw dirt on top of the seeds, and Krypto will lift his leg to bless the seeds in his own way.
And then we will brunch with Stephanie and the other SASBs, because in an ever-changing world, they are among the few people not horrified by our table manners. Thus tradition is tradition.
This is the beginning of what the Catholics call the Paschaltide, the Great Fifty Days. Here’s the life lesson that I learned in the kitchen with Nurse Vivian, dipping eggs with a spoon into teacups: Sorrow is easy to come by, so you’ve got to work to find joy. If I have one thing to teach Zane and Aidan, it is to embrace whimsy.
Happy Oestra. Go get yourself a bonnet!
Legend has it that the goddess Ostara turned a bird into a rabbit who laid colored eggs, and everybody liked the story so much they decided to name the holiday Oestra after her.