(This image is me at age 5. Note the gap in the bangs where I'd given myself a hair cut.)
New clothes were a very big deal when we were kids. We got a few outfits at the start of school and after that it was hit or miss until Easter when we got a fancy dress. As an avowed tomboy, I professed to hate the ruffles, tulle, and pastelled selections my Mom brought home. And it was no stretch of the imagination to despise the scratchy petticoat part of the dress.
So there we were, me and my sisters and brother, all scrubbed up in our Easter finest. Plumped, groomed, and as perfect looking as we could get. Most of the times we had natty little bonnets and shiny patent leather shoes.
The down side of all this splendor is that we were not allowed to move or get dirty. All the while the grownups are finally gettting dressed, finding the camera, and then we were released to find the eggs the Easter Bunny had hidden in the yard.
Easter spoils consisted of colored eggs and the deal was that we got to eat what we found. Even though I wasn't fond of boiled eggs, I wanted to find the most eggs. So there was a frenzied hunt for a few eggs. Lots of jostling and hurrying about.
One year there were hardly any spoils though. Only the eggs hidden in the trees and shrubbery survived. Our dog had quite the fondness for boiled eggs. She ate them shells and all.
After that year, the dog was penned up during the egg hiding and hunting. But I still gave her some of the spoils of my victory.
a fresh new voice in Southern fiction