Easter. An elaborate and treasured tradition, especially in Russia. But this post is not about the holiday, it's about a family that invited me to enjoy Easter lunch with them. The art of receiving guests is also a cherished tradition in Russia, and I was shown the warmest of welcomes.
The Easter table was beautiful, and covered with plates, bowls, and other vessels filled with delicious home-made food. In the center of the table was a large basket with colored Easter eggs. The mother of the household, undoubtedly one of the kindest people I have ever met, explained to me that they decorated eggs every year.
As if to prove it, she led me to the refrigerator and took out a single egg from the top shelf in the door. This egg, she explained to me, was decorated last year. It had survived for an entire year in their refrigerator. She gave it to me to hold, "It's a miracle," she said, laughing.
The father of the household, not quite as prone to excitement as his wife but no less kind, sat reading a newspaper in the corner. His back was turned to us, but his voice carried into the kitchen clearly. "Just don't eat that egg. Two miracles in one day is too much to ask for."
His wife laughed aloud and carefully placed the egg back in the refrigerator. For all I know, it may still be there.
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