We flew from London to Brussels,  taking a taxi and arriving home from the airport around 3 p.m. I'd bought some Easter candy in advance but hadn't finished my shopping for the kids baskets. E dashed to the grocery store only to discover nearly everything was sold out. When he came home without chocolate rabbits,  I insisted he go back out and scour any store that was still open (many are closed the day before and after Easter).  He finally came home, a small Easter ham and two chocolate rabbits in a sack.

My mood grayed with the skies. The drizzle started at dusk, and my spirits slithered downward like the rain running off the skylights.  A bit of post-vacation letdown, a lot of homesickness.

After the kids fell asleep, I headed to the basement to dig out the Easter baskets and recover the cheer of holidays past. How many times had I crouched with my camera to capture their eager faces? It wasn't just the baskets' contents that got them excited, it was the presentation--the way everything was staged in all its pastel cheer among the shiny plastic grass.

The table would be set with a soft green tablecloth embroidered by my mother-in-law. The Fitz & Floyd ceramic bunny tray, the tulip teapot my favorite aunt gave me, my beautiful bone china. I left most of that in storage in America, so last night I was scrambling for a way to dress up the table.  I wished I'd had time to buy flowers.

Holidays so far away from home leave me feeling hollow.  I always feel like we're going through the motions, trying to capture a feeling that proves elusive.  You can pack up all the holiday props but but not its essence. A part of me doesn't even want to try to reproduce our traditional Easter celebration here, and yet  I long for it.

We got in too late from London to get hot cross buns at the bakery.  I always made them from scratch at home. I asked E to pick up eggs and he did--but they were brown. E-Grrrl and Mr. A insisted on dyeing them anyway, undeterred by the murky colors they produced.

E-Grrrl, dressed all in pink with a headband in her blonde hair, looked like a bon-bon at church. Mr. A was handsome in a pale green and baby blue argyle vest over a blue dress shirt. I was surprised that by and large the women and children at church had failed to dress up. I suppose that sporting a bright colored Easter outfit is a fading tradition.  The same old somber black, navy, and brown hues dominated the pews. Because it was chilly, my pastel striped sweater was hidden under my coat.  The familiar hymns and service perked me up, but as we got into the car to head home we realized that we'd forgotten to close the cat up in a bedroom at the house and that she'd probably set off the home security system.

Sure enough, the alarm was shrieking when we got home, and we were mortified to have ruined the peace and quiet on a Sunday,  a holiday no less.  The police and our neighbor had tried to call E on his cell phone, but naturally we had not brought the phone  into church. By the time we got the message, we were headed home anyway. The 35-minute drive seemed interminable. We were cringeing all the way.

We dashed into the house, and shut off the alarm feeling stupid and sheepish. I changed into my sweats. All day I've pushed laundry into the washer and pulled it out of the dryer, trying to catch up after being away so everyone will have clean clothes to start the week.

It's been a somber Easter for me,  tainted by memories of holidays spent with family and friends.  Here's hoping for blue skies and sunshine tomorrow.