The Great Easter Basket Adventure

When I awoke there was only one thing on my mind, the same thing that had kept me awake, burning away the hours in the night. The anticipation would kill me and the excitement was nearly uncontrollable. Looking back on it I laugh and feel a sense of foolishness for the exhilaration I held just ten to fifteen years ago in the early hours of Easter Sunday.

In my family the yearly five hour car ride filled with three kids, two of whom get car sick, laughing, yelling, complaining, and occasionally making use of the “puke bag,” was just the beginning of my favorite holiday memories. The empty space in my uncle’s large house seemed to evaporate the second my brothers and I busted through the door to join our much quieter single child cousin for a weekend of fun. After pushing through the threshold we ran to the kitchen table knowing there would be four chocolate bunnies patiently waiting for the Grandkids, or “Gold Pieces” as my Grandma would say. After endless hours cooped up in the car my parents didn’t think the “Gold Pieces” seemed too golden so my Grandparents would entertain the children for the night.

When it was time for bed on Saturday I was filled with warm and happy thoughts ready for dreamland, but too giddy with anticipation for the morning’s events. The best part of the weekend lay so close within reach, I could not stop my stirring body. No, I am not talking about the morning’s two hour Easter Mass. It was the hunt for my Easter basket that was so enthralling and at times frustrating that I looked forward to year after year. My Uncle, a meticulous man, and an engineer, was responsible for hiding the Easter baskets. He took the job seriously, showcasing his skills, creating pulley systems, and contraptions to hide baskets in implausible places. This was more than a game to us kids. It was the adventure of the year.

My Uncle explained the rules and told the four anxious kids which rooms or areas were off limits. After some begging usually by my cousin and I, the two youngest of the clan, we were given subtle hints about where we might locate our basket among the many rooms that filled the two-story home. The adults would sip their coffee and slowly follow behind us as we ripped through the house opening doors, bending beneath furniture, and lifting curtains. As our eyes darted back and forth and our hands motored through anything in sight you would have thought we were Nicolas Cage in search of the national treasure. My heart would stampede out of my chest as I raced to find my basket first. Depending on the length of time it took to find the basket my celebratory actions were mixed. If I was the first, there would be a loud shriek mixed with a jumping sort of dance, followed by a run around the room. If I was the last to find my basket, I would immediately slump with a lack of enthusiasm before my lips would part into a slight smile as I gazed through my overflowing basket of goodies.

One year I searched for nearly 45 minutes before I found my basket hidden in the oven. Without the help of my Grandma telling me if I was hot or cold based on the proximity to my basket while searching, I’m sure some years I may have never found it. The challenge was all part of the adventure and although sadly to say it caused a few tears here and there, they were always drowned out with laughter eventually. Easter was filled with competition and family fun, not to mention all kinds of noise, but mainly the yearly Easter basket adventure I will never forget.