Susan Writes

All is Well

Posted on June 11, 2014 by susanrray

“He’s here! All is well.” I read that text message and knew all I needed to know. Jesse, my grandson, my Grand, had been born and he and Daughter were both fine.

It didn’t matter that it was almost bedtime; I left my house and drove to the hospital. At the nurses’ station, I asked for directions to Daughter’s room. The nurse smiled and said, “Grandmother?” I nodded. “Just follow the loud crying. He doesn’t like his first bath.”

My, how times have changed! Gone are the days when I birthed babies and no one was allowed in the birthing room. I walked right into the huge labor and delivery room. Daughter sat on a hospital bed, and I hugged her in the biggest bear hug possible. Son-in-law stood right beside the nurse while she gently patted baby Jesse’s legs with a small, soft cloth. Wearing only a diaper, Jesse lay on his back in a hospital infant bed that looked like clear plastic tub. The nurse said, “All finished. Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Son-in-law leaned over Jesse and laid one hand on his tummy, the other held his son’s tight fist. The picture I took will be the first one in Jesse’s photo album. A father and son talk when son was one hour old.

While Daughter and Son-in-law ate sandwiches, I sat beside Jesse. Still wearing only a diaper, he lay under a warming lamp. He seemed completely relaxed lying on his back, his arms spread straight from his shoulders, his legs straight, his little lips smacking, his eyes open. I held his fist and when he spread his fingers open, I slipped my finger into his hand. He closed his hand, grasping my finger.

So many strong emotions flooded through me. Love. Thankful. Relief. Happy. Joyful. Ecstatic. On Cloud 9. Grateful. Blessed. Emotions that jumped straight from my heart to my eyes. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I could’ve cried big loud sobs. Cries of joy. But it wasn’t the time or place. I took a few deep breaths, prayed silently, and wiped my wet face with the back of my hand. Little Jesse’s dark eyes were just inches from mine. I concentrated to imprint this moment in my mind.

As I’ve thought about the day Jesse was born, I remember that morning. Daughter was folding clothes and watching her children run under, around, and through fountains spraying from a water sprinkler. “You know,” Daughter said, “it feels good to have a day like this. We haven’t had a day to just do nothing and stay home and play in a long time.” Spoken like a mother of four and carrying a baby due any time.

At lunchtime, I told Husband, “This may be the day that Jesse is born. At his house, there is a huge tree on the ground that last night’s windstorm blew down and the washing machine quit working this morning, but everyone is calm and happy. Seems like a perfect day for a new baby.”

A new baby. Almost two weeks old now. And all is well. I’ve cried those big tears of joy – more than once.

Filed under: Family, Grandchildren | Tagged: a new baby, all is well, Grandchildren, tears of joy | 4 Comments »

Who Gives This Bride?

Posted on June 4, 2014 by susanrray

When my friend Kae Fleming said that Santa would escort her son’s bride down the aisle, I knew there was a good story.

It seems that for years, Santa had surprised the Fleming family while they ate Christmas Eve dinner at a Chinese restaurant. Unknown to Kae’s son Drake, Santa was their family friend, Bobby, who owned the local dry cleaning business. Like other children, Drake noticed Santa’s red suit of hanging in the dry cleaners and accepted Bobby’s explanation that Santa had to get his clothes cleaned, just like everyone else. Every Christmas Eve, Santa held Drake on his lap and gave him a small gift.

Bobby lived on a big farm close to the Duck River where he invited friends to play, fish, swim, and ride 4-wheelers. Among Bobby’s guests were Drake’s family and Bobby’s girlfriend and her two young daughters. It never occurred to Drake or the other children that Bobby was Santa; he was a friend who cleaned their clothes and had a great place to play.

Fast forward to Drake’s high school years. For four years in homeroom class, his assigned seat was beside Kayla Floyd, Bobby’s girlfriend’s daughter. By the fall of their sophomore years, Drake and Kayla’s friendship morphed into a romance. A romance that blossomed and grew. They played team sports: football for him, softball for her. They went to proms, hung out with friends, courted like high school sweethearts do.

And then they graduated. Drake accepted an appointment to West Point in New York, and Kayla chose to enroll in Tennessee Tech and play on the softball team. Separated by 850 miles, Drake and Kayla continued their courtship with late night phone calls, daily texts and emails, and sporadic visits during their college years. They stayed committed to each other and to completing their educations.

One summer night last year, Drake’s family hosted a picnic gathering for family and friends. Drake asked everyone to bow their heads for grace and right in the middle of the prayer, he said, “Y’all can raise your heads now, in case you haven’t figured out why you’re here.” And then he dropped to one knee and proposed to Kayla. The picnic turned into an engagement party.

As the wedding plans were made, Kayla chose Bobby – the man who was Santa and had invited Drake’s and Kayla’s families to play at his farm – to walk her down the aisle. Although Bobby and Kayla’s mom’s relationship ended years earlier, a special bond between Bobby and Kayla stuck. Bobby mentored and encouraged her as an athlete, a student, and a young lady.

Now Drake and Kayla have graduated from college and will wed on June 14 at St. Peter’s Episcopal Church in Columbia Tennessee. Drake’s mother said, “Bobby will walk Kayla down the aisle to give her away to Drake! He’ll wear a tuxedo, but probably should’ve considered a Santa suit!”

Surely, Bobby will wear his Santa suit for the reception. And I hope they stage a photo of Drake sitting on Santa’s knee and Kayla, in her beautiful white wedding dress, holding Santa’s hand.

Imagine the questions that Drake and Kayla will be asked later. Why did Santa come to your wedding? Is that really Santa?

Yes, for this bride and groom, Bobby is really Santa.

Filed under: Family, Wedding | Tagged: Santa, wedding | Leave a comment »

WHY?

Posted on May 28, 2014 by susanrray

I love the way toddlers talk and explore and inquire. The world is a vast classroom and they want to learn everything so they ask questions. I’m blessed with two Grands, Dan and Elaine, who are just now turning three.

Early one morning while Dan and I sat on my front porch steps, he stuck his finger in a tiny hole where some mortar between the bricks had come out.

“Look, Gran. A hole,” Dan said.

“Yes, there is,” I said. And then Dan asked the favorite question of all toddlers.

“Why?”

“Some of the mortar is missing.”

“Why?”

“It probably fell out.”

“Why?”

“Because it got loose and fell out.”

“Why?”

I sipped my coffee and decided that it was time for a new topic. I pointed up toward a tall black oak tree. “Dan, look at the birds perched high on a limb in that tree.”

“Where?” Dan asked.

He looked up toward the sky just as the birds flew from the branch. “Oh, they just flew away,” I said.

“Why?”

“They wanted to go somewhere else.”

“Why?” Dan walked down the steps.

“Maybe to find food.”

“Why?” Dan, dressed in his pajamas and bare footed, stood and was poised to step onto our creek gravel driveway.

“Dan, the rocks might hurt your feet,” I said.

“Why?”

“You don’t have your shoes on. When I walk barefoot on rocks it hurts my feet.”

“Why?”

“Because the rocks have sharp edges.”

“Why?”

“Dan, hand me a gray rock,” I said. Some limestone rocks were among the brown creek gravels. He held a rock in his little hand and I ran my finger along the rock’s edges. “These edges and this pointed end could hurt your foot if you stepped on this rock.”

“Gran! I need my shoes!” Dan said. He clinched the rock in his hand, turned, and walked up the steps and into the house.

Those few minutes of quiet, calm time had passed. I helped Dan put on his shoes and together we explored the backyard. And he asked why about everything.

On a warm spring day, Elaine and I sat on those same front porch steps and watched Husband, who wore a baseball cap, as he walked from our street mailbox toward us. “Gran, why Pop wear a hat?” Elaine asked.

“To keep the sun out of his eyes,” I said.

“Why?”

“Pop likes to wear caps.”

“Why?”

“His head is bald and a cap keeps his head warm.”

“Why?”

“Pop doesn’t have hair on his head.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s the way God made him.”

Elaine was silent for a few seconds. She rubbed her hand over the top of her head. “I have hair. Why?”

Most times my toddler-age Grands will ask questions as long as I answer. But one night Dan didn’t. After his mother and daddy had put him in bed for the night, he called, “Gran, come upstairs!”

I sat on the bed beside him, hummed a bedtime song, and patted his back. “Why you pat my back?” Dan asked.“Because I love you, Dan,” I said and I thought that there are thousands of reasons why.

Dan didn’t ask why. He said, “I love you, Gran.”

Filed under: Grandchildren, Kids Say Funny Things | Tagged: Grandchildren, Toddlers ask why, Why? | Leave a comment »

Little Free Library

Posted on May 22, 2014 by susanrray

As Husband and I drove along a Cookeville street last week, he took his right hand off the steering wheel and pointed. “Did you see that? It looked like a little house with books inside,” he said. I quickly turned my head toward where he pointed, but I didn’t see any little house, just regular size houses, and I wondered how he could see through a window to see books inside a house.

But Husband was right. He did see a little house with books on shelves behind a glass door. It’s mounted on a pole right beside the sidewalk. Under the little house is a sign that reads, “Take a book. Leave a book. Or both.”

This Little Free Library was a Mother’s Day gift to a friend, a fellow retired teacher. She had heard about the idea of free libraries a few years ago and when she mentioned it to her son, he not only built a library for her, but also installed it and planted flowers around it. A Little Free Library, according to littlefreelibrary.org, is a “take a book, return a book” gathering place where neighbors share their favorite literature and stories. In its most basic form, it is a box full of books where anyone may stop by and pick up a book or two and bring back another book to share. The movement was started in 2009 by Todd Bol in Wisconsin. He built a small schoolhouse, mounted it on a post, filled it with books, and posted a sign that read FREE BOOKS. His neighbors and friends loved it. Then he built more small libraries and gave them away.

The word spread from neighbor to neighbor, from local to regional to national to international media, and this one-person endeavor became an international happening. A non-profit corporation was established in May 2012, and by the end of that year over 15,000 Little Free Libraries had been registered on the online site. These libraries are now all over the world. From Alaska to Hawaii, from Australia to Iceland, from Italy to Ghana.

I like everything about Little Free Libraries. Books. Free. Bringing neighbors and friends and strangers together. Encouraging children and adults to read. Encouraging conversation about books and reading. A project started by one man in his yard that has spread throughout the world. I’ve seen them in a few big cities like Charleston, South Carolina, and Alexandria, Virginia, but my favorite one is right here in Cookeville.

Through Facebook, Jimmie announced that she’s in the library business and issued an invitation to “Take a book. Leave a book. Or both.” My five-year-old Grand and I did both, and we quickly dubbed her library as Ms. Jimmie’s Little House Library. A little house filled with books, just waiting for neighbors and friends to stop by.

I wonder how many more Little Free Libraries will spring up around here – in Cookeville, Putnam County, the Upper Cumberland. I better put on my walking shoes and find a few more books to share. And maybe, I’ll add something to my birthday wish list: one library.

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Filed under: Reading | Tagged: books, free library, little free library, little library, reading | 2 Comments »

Do For All

Posted on May 15, 2014 by susanrray

Nine years ago when I first became a grandmother, I bought a small burgundy photo album to hold a few pictures of my Grand. And I told David’s mother, my daughter, “I’m making David his own album. A few pictures of him each month. When he’s older, he might like it. ”

Daughter nodded, smiled, and said, “You know, Mom, what you do for one grandchild, you’ll want to do for all.” Why, oh why, didn’t I take that as discouragement and pretend I’d never thought about this idea? When Grand # 2 was born, I put her pictures in a green album. Grand #3’s pictures are in a bright red album. Now, I have six Grands and six different colored albums. I never imagined that stuffing a few photos behind plastic sleeves would mushroom into a major under taking. And sometimes I wish for the old days when a roll of film was developed at the drugstore and I simply got all the pictures developed, good and bad ones.

Now I spend hours, choosing photos and cropping and enhancing and using all those other edit options. I’m overwhelmed as I decide which pictures to have printed for each Grand. My older Grands, ages 5, 7 and 9, have taught me a thing or two. They flip right past those cute baby poses of themselves lying on their stomachs or looking at the camera. My Grands like the story photos, the action shots.

I order pictures – many, many pictures. Sometimes six of the same photo. Everyone needs a family Christmas picture. And then I have a huge stack of pictures, waiting to be sorted and labeled, that lay on my desk, sometimes for weeks. I’m determined to label because I have two generations of pictures with no dates or names.

Finally, I have six stacks of pictures and I get out the albums, turn on a little lite jazz music and put all those pictures in plastic sleeves. And then I make sure my Grands see their new pictures the next time they visit.

They look at their albums and say, “Gran, why is Pop pushing me in a wheel barrow? Is that at our house?” It was at his house. The day Pop set up a sand pile in his yard. That picture was made six years ago. Why had my Grand never noticed it before?

“Is this when Daddy built that big sand castle at the beach last year? It looks like I’m pouring water on it.” He did. And this Grand poured water as fast as her daddy could build.

“Look at me! I’ve got chocolate all over my face!” It was her 4^th birthday.

“That’s the day I learned to jump off the diving board! Did you know I was really scared?”

During those few minutes as my Grands turn pages and talk, I’m convinced that these six albums are worth the time and effort. I promise myself that the next time I won’t fret and spend so much time choosing and editing. Even if there’s just one picture for each Grand for each month, that’s enough.

Last week my nine-year-old Grand asked, “Gran, are you going to make a picture album for the new baby too?” I can’t stop now. Daughter was right. What I did for one, I want to do for all.

Filed under: Grandchildren, Pictures | Tagged: Do for all grandchildren, Grandchildren, picture albums, Pictures | Leave a comment »

A Tribute to Grandma

Posted on May 7, 2014 by susanrray

She was almost 90 years old and had spent the past eight years in a nursing home. The last three practically confined to a bed. She left her room only to be taken, in a wheel chair, down the hallway to the bathing room where she was showered while she remained seated. Her three daughters visited daily – taking turns on a schedule so that one of them was with her every day, usually during lunchtime and they helped her hold her spoon. And I, her granddaughter, visited once a week – no certain day, most often late afternoons.

Grandma Gladys communicated very little. Her greeting was a mumbled, “How are you?” She answered questions with a simple yes or no – sometimes by nodding or shaking her head. She rarely initiated conversation. I’d tell her what I’d been doing and about my children or funny things that the students in my sixth grade class did or what I planned to cook for supper. Sometimes she responded, sometimes not.

I asked Grandma what she ate for lunch, and I couldn’t understand her answer. “Chicken?” I said. She pulled her eyebrows down and shook her head. “Meatloaf?” “Macaroni and cheese?” We played this question game until I gave up or named something that she’d eaten. When I asked who visited her that day, I understood her answer because I knew my Mom’s and my aunts’ visiting schedules.

Grandma Gladys was always pleasant. Agreeable. Content. Appreciative. Never angry. Before I left her small world within the four walls of her room, I leaned over to kiss her forehead, told her bye and that I loved her. She responded, “Thank you for coming.” The clearest words she said. Or maybe the ones I understood most easily because ever since I was young and visited her and Papa in their home, she always said those same words when I told her bye.

She didn’t watch television or read. A large window close to Grandma’s bed brought the natural world into her room. She watched the leaves on the small maple tree change with the seasons. And she watched the sky. White clouds, blue sky, storm clouds, gray sky. If I forgot to give a brief weather report, the temperature and predicted precipitation, she asked about it. “Hot?” she’d say on an August day. “Rain?” she’d ask. She’d been the daughter and wife of farmers. The weather had determined their day’s work and year’s income.

Mom visited Grandma one cold, winter day. The sky was gray and the wind blew. Light, feathery snow swirled. Mother fed Grandma her lunch and spent most of the afternoon knitting as she sat in a chair beside Grandma’s bed. Grandma lay looking outside. When the time came for Mom to leave, she gathered dirty clothes from Grandma’s closet and picked up her own knitting bag, purse, and coat. She leaned over Grandma’s bed to tell her bye and Grandma said, “Put your coat on. It’s cold outside.”

Neither age nor rheumatoid arthritis nor mental illness nor the confines of a nursing home robbed Grandma of her mothering instincts. She continued to take care of her daughter.

Filed under: Family, Mother | Tagged: Grandma Gladys, Mother's Day | Leave a comment »

Another Flood

Posted on April 30, 2014 by susanrray

I awoke to the noise of the wet vacuum roaring. Husband wasn’t anywhere in sight. Even in my half-awake state, I knew somewhere in our house there was a water mess. Maybe I’d just cover my head and pretend I slept right through whatever was happening. But I couldn’t.

It was 5:30 a.m. and at 1:00 p.m., thirty women were coming to my house for a meeting. I’d cleaned, set up folding chairs – done everything to be ready. I frantically tried to think if I’d left water running the night before. I thought of the day I’d stopped up the utility room sink, turned on the water, and then, two hours later, water-soaked ceiling tiles fell in the garage. And I remembered the time I supervised one of our Grands during his bath, and he poured water around the bathtub to make a moat. The office under the bathroom was flooded. Now what?

Following the vacuum noise, I found Husband in the basement den. The carpet was soaked and water covered the bathroom tile floor. I stood quietly until he saw me and turned off the vacuum. “Did I leave something on?” I asked. No. The water leak was behind a commode. The shut-off valve had sprung a leak. When Husband awoke and heard water running, he discovered a spraying fountain.

“The only way I could stop the spray was to turn off the main water supply. There’s no water in the house. Don’t’ turn on any faucets or flush a commode,” Husband said. He turned on the wet vac and resumed his chore.

Greatly relieved that I hadn’t caused the problem, I headed to the kitchen to make coffee. I never found the gallon of emergency water that I thought I kept under the sink. I learned that two cups of ice cubes melted for three minutes in the microwave equals 1¼ cups of water.

As I handed Husband a steaming cup of black coffee, I asked, “Is this a leak you can fix?”

He answered with a question – one that told me he knew what I was really thinking. “What time is your company coming?” I hated the mess and knew the leak had to be fixed, but my real concern was that we ladies had to have water to wash our hands and flush. I’ve learned that in situations like this that the best thing I can do is to be quiet and get out of the way.

When I returned from the gym after exercising and taking a shower, a crew from a cleaning service had finished the water vacuuming job and set up powerful fans to dry the carpet, and plumbers had repaired the shut-off valve. Once again, water flowed. I profusely thanked Husband – I’ve always appreciated that he’s a take-charge, fix-it guy. And I smugly, but silently, I congratulated myself for staying calm.

And then a few minutes before my company arrived the doorbell rang, and there stood a pest control man. He held a bug sprayer. By the time I told him about the water spraying from behind a commode and all the repair men who’d been in our house that morning and the two times that I’d accidentally flooded our house in the past year and that thirty ladies would be at my doorstep any minute, he practically ran to his truck.

Poor guy. I just couldn’t be calm and quiet one minute longer.

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Filed under: Everyday Life, Flood | Tagged: company coming, flood, wet vacuum | 1 Comment »

At the Zoo

Posted on April 24, 2014 by susanrray

It was a cold, 50-degree windy day. A Friday during school spring break when Husband and I visited the Denver Zoo. And so did hundreds of other people. The Colorado wind blew fiercely. If it’d just been the two of us, I’d have suggested we choose another day to see the animals. As we got out of the car, Son said, “Dean, we’re in a parking lot. Choose a hand to hold.” Our two-year-old Grand screamed, “Pop!” and reached for Husband’s hand. Husband and Dean walked two steps in front of me. Son and Daughter-in-law, pushing nine-month-oldNeil in a stroller, led the way. Dean turned to look at me and said, “Come on, Gran!” He held out his little hand to take mine. The wind blew much less fiercely.

Many groups in the ticket line looked just like us. Grandparents, parents, grands. But I doubt that other groups had experienced leaders like ours. “Dean, what’s the first animal Pop and Gran will see?” his mother asked.

“Lions! GRRRRRR!” Dean said. Pop and I walked fast to keep up with his churning legs. The massive male lion lay sleeping on a boulder just a few feet on the other side of the thick glass inside Predator Ridge; the female slept on the ground. “Pop, pick me up.” Husband held him and Son stood beside them. The lion opened his massive copper brown eyes and then yawned. His head was as big as Neil’s stroller seat and when this cat stood on the rock, his eyes were level with mine. The female lion stood, looked toward the male, and turned away when he lay down.

Thus, our day began at the Denver Zoo that first opened in 1896. It encompasses 80 acres and in 1918 was the first zoo in the United States to use naturalistic enclosures instead of cages. The animals roamed in open spaces, and we walked along wide walkways that followed the lay of the land and were bordered with tall trees and vegetation.

“Look, there’s Bert! He’s out of the water,” Daughter-in-law said. Bert is a 57-year-old hippopotamus, and he stood beside a large swimming hole. I’ve seen many hippos’ heads, but not those enormous bodies. Bert lumbered close to the edge of the water. He put one foot in as if to test the water’s temperature. Then his barrel-shaped body slowly, but not gracefully, entered the pool. When the water splashed, we all laughed – even Neil. Then all we could see were Bert’s eyes, tiny ears, and nostrils.

Among the trees of the Primate Panorama, white cloths the size of a sheets, hung on tree branches. Cloth that looked out of place until we watched an adult orangutan, holding a baby in its arms, wrap the cloth around herself and the baby.

The wind continued. I stood behind anything or anyone bigger than me to knock the 15-mile-an-hour wind out of my face, and I went inside every building even if I had to maneuver around fifteen baby strollers and didn’t know what animals were inside.

It was a perfect zoo trip. This day really wasn’t about the animals or the weather. It was about being with two of our Grands and their parents. And holding hands.

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Filed under: Animals, Grandchildren, Zoo | Tagged: Grandchildren, holding hands, zoo | Leave a comment »

Easter Egg Hunt

Posted on April 17, 2014 by susanrray

When I was a child, I was as eager to go to church on Easter Sunday as I was on Christmas Eve when Santa gave me a peppermint candy cane. I wore new clothes on Easter morning: a pastel colored fancy dress, patent leather shoes, white socks with ruffles, and white gloves. Mother made sure that my entire Easter outfit was brand new, but wearing new clothes wasn’t why I was excited.

On Easter at Byrdstown First Christian Church there was a big Easter Egg Hunt immediately after the preacher’s last amen. During the church service, several men hid eggs. All hard-boiled eggs that church members had boiled, dyed, and decorated. I didn’t hear a word of the service – not the hymns, prayers, scripture reading, or sermon. During the long hour between 11:00 and noon, I squirmed and wiggled and stretched my neck to look out the open windows to see where Daddy was hiding the Easter eggs.

As soon as church was over, I grabbed my Easter basket from under the pew where Mother had put it so I couldn’t touch it during the service. I ran out the church front door as quickly as I could. I ran right past the preacher without shaking his hand. All of us children clutched the handles of our empty Easter baskets and lined up on the asphalt parking lot at the edge of grass.

On one side of the church, eggs lay on top of the grass in plain sight for the little kids to find, and the other side was divided into two sections for two age groups. Very few eggs were hidden for the teenagers because they were beyond hunting for eggs, but they were enticed to look for a prize egg. Those of us in the elementary age group had the most eggs to find. We stood poised and ready, knowing that for every colored egg we could barely see there were many more hidden. And when someone shouted, “Ready, set, GO!” we kids ran helter skelter gathering eggs that were hidden in tall tufts of grass, under shrubs, among the exposed roots of tall oak trees, and along a grown up fencerow.

We hunted until someone found the prize egg, a hard-boiled goose egg wrapped in gold paper, and the adults in charge declared that every egg had probably been found. We children counted the number of eggs in our baskets because money prizes were given for the number of eggs found – the most eggs, the least, and none. And the person in each age group who found the prize egg got a bright shiny silver dollar. I found the prize egg only once—inside the downspout of the gutter.

I took home all the eggs that I found. Eggs that other church members had boiled and dyed, and I hunted those eggs again in our backyard as many times as I could get my mother or daddy or brother to hide them. There weren’t any prizes at home. I hunted just for fun after I’d taken off my fancy new Easter clothes.

Filed under: Easter, Holidays | Tagged: Church, Easter Eggs, Hunt Easter Eggs | Leave a comment »

Easter Eggs

Posted on April 11, 2014 by susanrray

Brown eggs don’t dye pretty colors like white eggs – except for purple. Brown eggs dipped in purple water turn a beautiful dark wine color. Most colors – yellow, green, blue – made brown eggs look like a clod of dirt. Granny’s chickens laid brown eggs and Mom certainly never considered taking only wine colored eggs to the church Easter egg hunt. That’s why, when I was a kid, Mom bought white eggs to color.

Each church family took colored eggs for the egg hunt. On Saturday afternoon before Easter Mom boiled several dozen eggs – some white from the grocery store and some brown from Granny’s henhouse. Mom and I, and my brother if Mom could rope him into helping, (teen-age boys think they’ve outgrown such childhood activities) colored each egg. We used the Paas dye – tablets that dissolve in water.

Mom didn’t like plain one-color eggs. We did half blue and half green eggs and tri-color eggs. We’d color an egg all yellow and then dip each end in blue or red. Using a paraffin pencil we’d draw designs that wouldn’t absorb color before dunking an egg in a color solution. We decorated with glitter and sequins —anything to make an egg look fancy.

We colored a few brown eggs in red and purple liquid dyes and used crayons to draw designs on most. Mom drew rabbits and simple flowers. My favorite way to color brown eggs was with multi-colored stripes and zigzag lines and circles. We spent what seemed like all afternoon sitting together at the kitchen table.

I dyed eggs with my children and now with my Grands. Next week I’ll throw a plastic tablecloth over my kitchen table and bring out boiled eggs and coloring supplies. The box of Paas dye hasn’t changed – except for the price – in 50 years. And I’m glad. There’s something magical about dropping a small colored tablet into three tablespoons of white vinegar and making brilliant colors, before diluting the solution with a half-cup of water.

And ever year, someone asks, “Why do you have to add the vinegar?” Because the directions say to isn’t a good enough answer. The vinegar creates an acid solution so that the colors bond with the calcium in the shell. And sometimes there’s more ‘why’ questions.

I know that plastic eggs are cheaper than real eggs and prizes or candy can be put inside each plastic one, but I like real Easter eggs. The ones you boil and color. And in the process, it’s a time to talk and laugh and create. It’s not just about coloring eggs; it’s about the shared experience.

A few days ago, my seven-year-old Grand asked, “Gran, when are we going to color Easter eggs?” I like that. She didn’t ask, “Are we going to color Easter eggs?” She asked, “When?” Then she said, “I’m going to draw designs with crayons on some.” Good, because I have some brown eggs to be colored and I don’t like Easter eggs that look like a dirt clods.

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Filed under: Grandchildren, Holidays | Tagged: Easter, Easter Eggs, Grandchildren | 1 Comment »

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