For reasons that have never been made clear to me, though I think it has something to do with lunar movement, Greek Easter (and all other Orthodox Easters) does not fall at the same time as regular Christian Easter. This year it was a week later on the weekend of the 22nd/23rd.
I’m not really all that religious, but I do find it an interesting celebration that I participate in, if not only out of habit, with the Greek side of my family every year.
In the days leading up to Easter, the kinds of foods you are allowed to eat are slowly decreased, until Good Friday when there is absolutely no meat, fish, oil, dairy. I really hated to break it to my aunty that she had broken pretty much every rule at breakfast the day of Good Friday, by indulging in a sandwich composed of yoghurt and crab sticks (which probably contain more beef offcuts than seafood).
On Friday night at 9pm everyone goes to Church to light a candle and take part in walking around the block with the cross tradition. I had been attempting to ward off a cold for the past couple of days using my mother’s denial technique (“Whud are you dalking aboud? I don’d hab a cold”), but arriving in a skirt and thin jacket, waiting around outside the church for an hour then participating in a slow walk around the block really sealed the deal for the flu in me. The candles we carried all the way were more of a fire hazard than anything, and trying to get close to them for warmth really didn’t help the situation.
If you’ve successfully done the fast, you get communion on Saturday morning, but Saturday night is probably the most interesting experience. Church is held at 12 midnight when there is a reading, and candle light is brought out and passed down everyone’s candles. I had a very interesting time contemplating the stitch of the guy in front of me’s jumper, when I was jolted back to life by the hot wax dripping onto my fingers from my candle. (Most of this takes part outside the Church, and even includes a firecrackers ceremony, and I still haven’t figured out if it is part of the tradition, or on behalf of some local pranksters). Tonight the fire hazard increases tenfold as it is custom to bring “the fire” back to the house to bless the doorways.
When we arrive home at around 1 am, we have a serving of what I lovingly refer to as “Animal Soup”. I realised only recently that this was originally created so that an entire lamb could be devoured over Easter - the leg (along with any other edible section, in my opinion), are cooked as a roast on Easter Sunday, and every other left over bit is put together for a soup that we eat that night (oh yum.) Every year my grandfather insists on using the biggest pot to make the soup, meaning we have around a week’s leftover, and the only reason I resisted hiding said pot in my room - where it would never, ever be found - was the realisation that, as a shopaholic (my grandfather, yes) he would simply go out and buy a new one.
When the soup has been eaten, we have the egg cracking game, which consists of everyone in the family holding a hard boiled egg, and taking turns to crack it against another family members’ in a contest attempt to have the last remaining uncracked egg. This year I came a close second to my father.
Sometimes post midnight doesn’t really mesh too well with my sanity, especially when I’ve been woken at a ridiculously early hour (8.30am!!!) on a Saturday, so after we had eaten I started fiddling with my hair and decided it was a good idea to attempt a Cousin It style ‘do, and sport a front pony tail. One of my aunties managed to capture it on film without my knowing (since I couldn’t see past the thick layer of hair).
After this I dragged my cousin into the laundry where we played a round of “don’t you hate it when...” (a game we invented where each person attempts to out-do the previous contender with a horrific story involving anything from a public toilet, or incidents that couple bananas and sneezing, or that time when the rogue bandaid crossed the road towards enmore pool, etc etc). This was essentially a ploy to try and get away from the kitchen, where the remains of the Animal Soup were being cleaned up, though we were summoned back towards the end to dry and pack away the dishes.
So now it’s 2.45am and I’m breathing through a heavily blocked nose, facing a night of unrestful sleep and waking up to find my mouth completely devoid of saliva, and I can’t even get on the net to post this. Ah! At least I’ve located my dear nasal spray...