My Mom knew how to do up eggs like no other. She would crack the eggs with a deft motion on the blunt edge of the cast iron frying pan and carefully let the raw egg slip from the two halves of the shell into the heated pan. The eggs would sizzle gently in the hot pat of butter that was melted in the pan. Then, at just the right time, she would tip in a bit of water from a cup and cover the pan with a lid. The hissing steam created from this method set the eggs and gave them a somewhat poached finish.
Eggs were a mainstay in our household growing up with most weekday breakfasts consisting of eggs and toast. Sunday mornings there was a deviation, and a box of corn flakes was on the table. Occasionally we had French toast. But typically, Mom made eggs. As a girl, I ate the yolk (dippable but not watery) with my toast and liked it. But the white of the egg – it stayed on my plate. I don’t recall if I needed to eat it anyway. I do remember having travelers who were passing through our small northern town join us for breakfast one morning. Mom made eggs and toast. One of the guests left the whites of their eggs uneaten on their plate. As the passers-through were leaving, the woman said somewhat sheepishly to Mom that she didn’t care for egg whites. Would this be my future, adult self?
My daughter is a “Swifty”, the name given to the music artist Taylor Swift’s fans. Swift has garnered a loyal following of fandom who eagerly await what music she will release next. A creative tactic she has employed is giving her audience clues as to upcoming new music or tours. The hints at things to come might be hidden in a dress of a certain colour worn by her at a concert or in lyrics with a cloaked meaning. These clues are known as Easter eggs, and her fans eagerly watch for them.
Pope Francis died the day after Easter this year. It was his practice to visit a prison on Maundy Thursday to wash the feet of the inmates, modeling what Jesus did for his friends the night before he died. Pope Francis even went to a women’s prison and washed the feet of the women there, a deviation from held tradition. I looked this up – the women were sitting on a platform with one shoe off, ready for the pope to come by in his wheelchair to splash some water on their feet. He ended this symbolic act of servanthood by kissing each foot that he washed . Efficiency appeared to be a factor with the one foot approach, but nonetheless the women looked genuinely moved by his kindness to them. He truly seemed to be a good egg.
I made some Easter eggs this spring. Implementing an idea I saw on social media, I cut up a threadbare quilt that had been pieced by Susannah, quilted by her daughter Naomi, then used and worn out by her granddaughter Judy and her family. As per the design I saw, I made a template of an egg out of cardboard and used that to cut egg shaped pieces from the tattered quilt. Because the quilt was quite literally falling apart, I had to search for places on it where the fabric still had some usability to cut out the eggs. Using bias tape, I sewed a pocket of sorts and added ric rac for fun and colour. These Easter egg pockets held a small surprise for the darlings when we shared a meal on Easter Sunday. They now also have a piece of familial history in their hands.
Taking old ideas, old beliefs, or old things and finding ways to resurrect something new from them has in and of itself the surprise and appeal of finding an Easter egg. It encourages continued and further engagement in a concept, in a faith, or in a soon-to-be-discarded quilt when the easier thing to do might be to discard it. A pop star’s creativity with lyrics and fashion, giving hints to what might be next in her repertoire, served to entice her audience and keep them coming back for more. Commentary at Pope Francis’s funeral spoke of a church leader who lived his life by the Gospel message beyond mere lip service, making choices and decisions in favour of the “least of these”. He fearlessly ventured outside of the old traditions to honour the overlooked and, in doing so, lived the message of resurrection and new things from the old.
Now my mom had a real soft heart for people who were overlooked, but she would have no qualms about throwing out a thing that was worn out. “Pitch it”, she would say. “Weckgshcmisse!” (throw away). Toss it out, much like her story of how they would throw an “unglick” (unlucky) egg* over their shoulder or over the house roof to nullify the bad luck. If something was worn out, it was time to move on. Don’t fuss around with an article that has long since served its purpose. She was entertained and amused at the antics of her children and their salvage projects – an approach that came from her husband’s DNA.
I agree with Mom – there is a time to throw things away. Things like traditions, practices, beliefs, and possessions may all have an expiry date and are best put in the trash. Hanging on to any of these things past their shelf life may result in a rigidity that is lifeless or in clutter that weighs one down. However, alongside discarding something when it is no longer good for anything, I think there too is a place for sifting through the rubble of worn out things to find that bit of life that may still enhance living with creativity. The author of Ecclesiastes writes that there is a time to be born and a time to die. The writer doesn’t mention a time to be reborn, but that also seems like a viable option.
Is it perspective that decides the usefulness or the used-up-ness of something? Or personality? Time and place? Taste and preferences? A sense of awareness? All of the above, perhaps? Regardless, in the end may we foster an inclusivity that appreciates the birth, the death, and the rebirth of our pathways.
And may we never be too old to hunt for Easter eggs.
* an “unglick oi” or unlucky egg was an egg with a double yolk