a view from the laundry pile…

…it's all about perspective.

A dye job

on April 8, 2012

Coloring Easter eggs would make more sense if we actually ate the eggs.  Last Easter we did a dozen — but most of them ended up getting recycled.  We had the prettiest worm bin in the neighborhood that year.

I know some vegetarians eat eggs but I just don’t like them (well, the “thought” of them, really, as in what they are and where they come from.  Even thinking about this, as I’m typing, kind of gives me the willies….) and Fred can only eat just so many before he starts to grow feathers and scratch at the ground.  I’m sure they’d keep for a while but the humidity here always makes the colors run…like, through the egg carton, all over the fridge and, when you go to clean it up, if you don’t remember the rubber gloves, you’re sporting Technicolor hands for a few days.

But, when I was a kid, I loved sitting around the table with my family coloring eggs. The Paas kits always provided a good evening of fun.  I remember my Mom letting us color the raw eggs if we wanted to color more after the hard-boiled were done.  It was always interesting, Easter morning breakfast, if one or two of the raw ones got in with the cooked ones. 

There was one year, 1974, that I colored…no, ‘created,’ a particularly wonderful Easter egg.  I used every color, with careful precision, to ensure each one was perfectly overlapping the next. It was a shining work of art as far as my young  imagination was concerned — and there was no way anyone was going to eat the masterpiece that must’ve taken me a good 12 or 13 minutes to make.  At some point during the night, I don’t remember when now, I snuck out to the kitchen table (apparently, in 1974, it was okay to leave eggs sitting out all night…), took my egg, and hid it in my room. 

Several years later, when I was getting ready to move into my first apartment, I found it again, tucked away inside a Dixie cup stuffed with tissue, in my jewelry box.  Fortunately, it was just the way I left it, beautiful, unbroken, and not stinking my room up to high heaven.  

It’s not as grand as it was in 1974 to twelve-year old eyes but this egg has traveled with me to many states over the last 38 years.  The yoke has long dried up and whatever is left inside, I hope, is going to stay there,  just as it is.


2 responses to “A dye job

  1. Sherry says:

    Hi Linda!
    Your blog looks great! After reading it last night, I woke up this morning thinking….Erma Bombeck! That’s who you remind me of!

    It’s pretty amazing that you’ve been able to keep that egg in one piece all this years.It’s still beautiful!
    Your dog-girls would eat those soft boiled ones on the plate right up, shell and all. I can’t imagine not eating eggs. I bought 18 last night after we got home, I have 6 left! Four in a breakfast scramble, two in chocolate chip cookies, six for deviled eggs. I’d better check for feathers! ( I always have been know to scratch in the dirt)

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