These broken shells are among my greatest treasures.
It was 1980.
I sat at the kitchen table of my family home coloring Easter Eggs with my Nan O’Dea.
I wouldn’t have called her creative…unless you considered the creativity it took to stretch a dollar. But this day, while visiting us from Newfoundland for Easter…her leg broken from a fall down the church steps and elevated on the kitchen chair…we painted eggs…dipping them in dye before carefully painting them. The fine tipped markers and her precise movements creating a colorful pattern with her shaky hands…ever so careful not to break the egg we’d “blown out” moments before.
Used later to make Lemon Meringue pies for Easter Dinner.
Enjoyed the moment and chuckled at her creation claiming I shouldn’t put hers in the basket with the others as it “wasn’t very good.”
But it was perfect.
Long after Easter had ended and Nan went home, I saved it. Placing it on my bedroom shelf until one day it broke…and I couldn’t bear to throw it away.
Gathering the tiny pieces I placed them in a box where the broken shells have remained one of my greatest possessions much for the love of my Nan as for the memory of time spent with someone I adored.
I think of her often…more at Easter than any other time but she’s always in my heart.