The eggs are ready. Most of them hard-boiled, some a little less (for my mother). The table is set. The grands and us children are dressed and downstairs. My father starts with a prayer and breakfast starts. A piece of bread with some jam. One egg, no two eggs. Then another two. And another two. I can probably manage about five eggs as do my siblings. My father and grandfather however eat eggs like they are going out of fashion. And before we know it, there is only about four eggs left. But it's time to leave. For church.
After church we would go back home. And depending on the weather, the rest of the day would be spent in quietness. Perhaps a walk if the weather was nice, some television if there was anything good on, a game, a book. And that is how I spent Easter in my youth.