Eggsactly What I Wanted!

I love eggs. No, not eating them – I mean, eating them is fine, so long as they’re not fried. Cannot abide them fried – but, rather, what I love is just the egg itself…the oval, Humpty Dumptyesque shape. (Though if they’re so broken that all the king’s horses and all the king’s men can’t put them together again, they might not bring me quite the joy that their whole counterparts bring me.)

The whole collection!

When I was young my mom had a wooden egg within-an-egg-within-an-egg. Kinda like the Matryoshka dolls I love but in egg form. Perhaps this is the root of my love of Matrioshkas? (I posted about them here: https://afinedayforanepiphany.wordpress.com/2011/10/11/horror-show-aka-tanyas-most-forgettable-student/)

I loved that egg of Mom’s.

I also loved the few egg cups that she had. Now, I admit: the egg cup has become a forgotten item in the kitchen today. Perhaps this is due in part to the “raw eggs are evil” teaching we’ve received in recent years – and egg cups, let’s face it, are ideal for soft-boiled eggs…ie: evil eggs.

The yellow Lego egg cup - how could I resist?!! It's the only duplicate egg cup I have - as they came two to a package! The cup to the right of it is, I believe a toothpick holder, as is the one next to it. That one was my husband's when I met him.... The red polka dotted egg is in a cup from an antique store in Iowa. There are wonderful egg cups to be found in antique stores, as no one today really uses or makes them compared to long ago. And, usually, they're aren't too expensive.

There’s just something about the sweet little egg cup that I have adored for years. So, when I was in high school, I began to collect them. On a school trip to London we stopped for all of about 15 minutes at Harrod’s…and I found myself in the china department. Oy, vey! That was a lovely 15 minutes.

From there my collecting obsession grew. And, of course, like any collector, my friends and family discovered that I like egg cups and they now enable me in pursuing my fun.

My chicken egg cups - the white one I bought in Chinatown in Vancouver, B.C., in December. The middle one is from Vic's Corner in Millford, Iowa. They have a wonderful outdoor antique flea market on all 3 of the major summer holidays. The egg in that cup is a rythm shaker that I swiped from my kids years ago. They never noticed. The blue egg was from my oldest sister - I love that color of blue. The wee cup in the front holds my smallest matryoshka doll...because she just seemed to be begging to masquerade as an egg in honor of that wooden Matryoshka-esque one my mom had years ago.

I decided a few years ago that I needed get more serious about collecting actual eggs to go with my egg cups. Most of my eggs are just ones I’ve blown and dyed…a craft I actually make time for. But I have also begun to find wonderful eggs in surprising places…and my collection is slowly beginning to take shape. (Ovoid-shape…ha ha.)

One of the things I really enjoy about my collection is that I don’t limit myself. If something looks like it’s the right size to hold an egg…I’ll use it! So I have toothpick holders that have been repurposed, a plastic goblet of my daughter’s…yes, I asked permission…I think…and even a miniature coffee mug. I also, this year, began using a couple dried gourds in the place of eggs…so fun!

Bird’s nests are a related passion…and they come into my collection as well.

A nest I found a few years ago - can't remember what kind of bird - it was in a tree right beside our deck. The acorns just seemed perfect as ersatz eggs!

I have a picture of the entire collection, though I am not including close-ups of all of them. How could I skip over some of them? I don’t know. Now I’m all sad that I didn’t take more pictures because they’re all wonderful. Perhaps next year…

All in all, they are my favorite decorations for Easter.

Two Russian eggs - the red one my husband bought me (here in Minnesota) and the black one my mom bought for herself in Russia, but then gave to me when she learned of my obsession!

Though, to be sure, there is much more to Easter than eggs and adorable holders.

And that, my friends, is truly what Easter is all about. Thanks be to God for His indescribable gift. 2 Corinthians 9:15

Soli Deo Gloria

The four eggs in the bowl were from my mom...I think they're meant to be like Ukranian eggs...though they're paper mache. The tin egg inside the half egg in the background is the only antique tin egg I have - I'd love more but they're hard to find.

These funny egg guys go perfectly - I love them. The red cup is from an Iowa antique store and the egg in it is another shaky toy of my kid's. The two ducks in the background are from a junk store here in town...

Three eggs I made - none of them pefect, but they're fun. The first cup is one my mom gave me - it's so sweet! The second is, I think, my favorite. It's form an antique store in Red Wing, Minnesota, and the third is made by a local potter on Orcas Island, Washington. It was my mom's...emphasis on the was.

The first egg cup is from Harrods in London, circa 1986. It's the first egg cup I bought! The middle one is from the KaDeWe department store in Berlin last year, and the end one is made out of olive wood and is from Israel - my mom bought it for me there years ago. The egg in that cup is a cedar egg from a tacky tourist trap in North Platte, Nebraska. I love mixing and matching!

A blown brown egg in a plactic goblet of my daughter's! And a gourd in an egg cup that my best friend from college brought back from Africa for me a few years ago. Thanks, Rose!

The three eggs in the basket I bought in Berlin a year ago - the blue painted wooden one that is loose on the cabinet is from there, too. The polka dotted one I blew out last year - put stickers on it before I dyed it and then peeled them off. The egg cup that one is in is from Crate and Barrel. The blue stone egg in a wire nest is from Orcas Island and it rests on a piece of beach glass - a round bottom of a coke bottle - though you can't really see it in the photo.

A real bird's nest I found this spring while I was cleaning up from winter - it was waiting for me all winter long! The egg and bird are from a Swedish shop.

The two smaller bowls were from my oldest sister and the bigger bowl was a baby toy that I pilfered from my babies. The birdie and many of the eggs I bought in Germany. The other eggs are just cheap ones from a local department store...but mixed in with the others, they're adorable!

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First-Snow Madness

It’s snowing. For the first time this season. I love sitting and watching it come down; watching the white against the evergreens across the field; the way it powders the deck like confectioners’ sugar on gingerbread.

The first snow always means insanity. People forget how to drive and slide into the ditch. The kids dance around like it’s a blizzard. Lucy wants to make a snow angel. In 1 centimeter of snow. (We’re expecting 4 inches, but she can’t wait that long.)

My husband and kids are moving the woodpile into the garage, where the wood will be waiting for us on wicked-cold nights. We light the fire for fun, not for practicality, unlike when I grew up and had to haul in wood several times a week for the woodstove that heated our whole home. And when I say heated, I’m being generous. I could see my breath in the mornings when I woke up, at the far end of the house, though the living room was toasty!

Working together on a snowy day.

My 12 year old just came running in.

“Mom! You’ll never guess what we found in the wood pile!”

“Well, since I can’t guess, then just go ahead and tell me.”

“An Easter egg! And it’s filled with gross candy!”

This is not a huge surprise to me, as ever since we moved out here 6 years ago, it’s become family lore how many eggs are found after the fact. We found one, while hiding this year’s crop, that had been there for five years. How do we know? Because that was the only year some were filled with butterfly erasers.

Okay, Lucy is ready to go out now. Gonna take the camera. Back in a few…

Success!

Okay. Back now. Took some good shots. It’s nice when the family can work happily together. We spent the morning in town. Christmas program practice at church (more on that in a future post!) took up most of the time but then we went to do something we had never done before.

(You’re going to keel over when you read what this was. “You’ve never done that before?” You will ask. My simple answer is, “No.” Long story. Suffice it to say that, come the third child, parents mellow. Or, maybe, my husband just forgot that he said years ago that he didn’t want his child to do that and maybe if I’d just done it years before now my two oldest kids wouldn’t have been deprived.)

We took Lucy to see Santa.

The Santa moment.

We tried to go last night, but the line of hot, tired, nervous kids was more than we could take. So we went today instead. Thankfully, it was the same Santa (though in a different location) so Lucy wasn’t traumatized by his sudden change of appearance. He was at my favorite coffee shop today, snoozing in front of the fire. He woke up when he heard kid’s voices. He’s magic that way.

Lucy walked right up to him, her hair a wild mess (as her hair is doomed to be all winter what with the dryness and the stocking caps) and her white, lace collar partially covered in blood from the head-on collision she had with her best pal during program practice.

“Hello there,” Santa said.

Lucy, suddenly shy, said nothing.

Santa said something else at this juncture but I was getting my camera ready and didn’t catch it. He spoke in a low voice, friendly, non-threatening. This is, apparently, Santa’s 26th year of, well, being Santa. He told my friend he’s retiring after this season. “Let someone else have a chance,” he said.

He asked Lucy if she’d like to sit on his lap and she agreed. “You have some nice dimples, I see,” Santa said.

Lucy nodded.

He continued to ask her questions and she began to respond. They spoke for quite some time. At some point in the conversation she told him what she’d like for Christmas. Her answer came as quite a shock to me.

“A bus.”

“A bus?” I asked later. “Really?” My mind racing, I could not, for the life of me, figure out why this was what she asked Santa for.

“Yes,” Lucy said. “A bus. For my Barbies to ride in.”

“Ah. I see,” I said, nodding sagaciously. “Now I understand.”

The cat did not appreciate the snow.

When we got home from seeing Santa (four hot-chocolates poorer), Lucy was still telling Daddy all about her exciting morning, what with a bloody nose at church and Santa and all, when the mail lady drove up. There, on the front cover of the local newspaper, was Santa himself. The very Santa Lucy had just visited with.

“Look, Lucy!” I exclaimed, “It’s Santa!”

In an instant her little head tilted upwards, scanning the skies.

She spoke not a word, but her face said it all: “I believe!”