As a child, Easter seemed magical. I would sneak warm cottage cheese out of Easter, pretending I was “just testing the flavor” and then trying to explain where half the contents had gone. Eggs were dyed in onion husks, and if one didn't turn out too pretty, it was said to be “avant-garde.”

Now grandma's newspapers have been replaced by a silicone stand, and instead of onion husks - sets of “marble effect”, “galaxy”. But, what is pleasant - traditions have not disappeared. They've just been slightly reshaped to fit modernity.

I still bake paski, although every year I say that “this year I'll definitely buy it, I won't bother”. But no - as soon as I smell yeast, my hands reach for the bowl.

You know, the most valuable thing in these traditions is not the perfectly round cakes or the number of eggs (although, I admit, I still compete with my neighbor on the number of pieces in the basket). The most important thing is laughter, memories, joint troubles and that very feeling when everyone you care about gathers around the table.

Even if the older generation is with us now only in memories, I feel them every time I smell vanilla, when the eggs burst a little in the pan, and when I catch myself thinking, “Oh, that's just like my mom said.”

So yes, traditions live on. Modified, updated with jokes, quests and new people, but still just as heartwarming.