I really want to “go with the flow” but, I come from a long line of ladies who, with their curriculum of etiquette and cook books in hand, taught me that (most of the time) there is a “right” or at least, a proper way to do things.

As we are all products of our environments, this has been hard to let go of in my adult years. I go around pretending to be breezy but deep down, there is absolutely no chill about me. This is only becoming more and more clear in the discomfort of all things COVID-19.

When I think of life’s marker moments; graduations, weddings, funerals, holiday’s, new jobs, babies, houses, etc... there are traditions that bring significance to these events.

Traditions were a big deal in my family when I was growing up. My mom said, “a holiday is just like any other day - unless you make it special”. We even made-up holidays in our family. My favorite was called “first fire night” and it was simply the first night each year that we put a fire in the fireplace. We’d roast marshmallows in the living room and turn out all the lights and make smores by the fire, it was so much fun. These are the moments you remember.

In this COVID-19 craziness, I hadn't realized how much I was grieving the loss of normality and customs until yesterday when Easter arrived and the many of traditions associate with that Easter didn't happen. It was only after chatting with my mom that I realized that there was at least do one thing to make it feel like Easter. I needed to make deviled eggs.

I might not have had all my preferred ingredients and grocery shopping has been challenging at best in recent weeks but thankfully, deviled eggs are pretty basic. All you really need in a pinch is a little mayonnaise, salt and pepper, and dash of paprika. It’s not even so much that I wanted to eat the eggs as much as I needed a reminder that this day was indeed a holiday and for me holidays always involve deviled eggs, proudly displayed on my great-grandmothers deviled egg plate. It was such a small thing, but it turned the day around for me. It’s usually the smallest gestures that can pull us out of our heads and into a space of gratitude. To be honest, I don’t even care about the “rightness” or “wrongness” of my longing for and love of structure. There is a beauty in it. A comfort that comes with the rhythms of ritual.