I haven’t celebrated or done anything special for Easter since I lived in Czechoslovakia (where we threw water on the boys and got beaten by sticks and, of course, drank a lot…).
But, this year Doug ‘hatched’ a plan — dyeing Easter eggs.
I was down with it because mom had sent a link to a blog where a fiber artist had tried out the Martha’s technique for dying eggs using silk ties. Inspired by the chance to craft with the boyfriend (always fun with a fellow creative artistic person) I was all for dyeing something other than roving.
So, we waited in line at Goodwill for about 30 minutes to get silk ties. Doug went and got the eggs and some regular egg dye just for fun and when we got home from our movie Saturday night, we got down (not in that way) to business.
The silk eggs turned out really well. The first batch Doug hollowed out and the second batch I decided to mix and match fabrics for some visual interest…
We then did some plain ol’-fashioned dyeing (and I was tempted to put the left-over dye in the crockpot and dye up some roving, but restrained myself, it being 11 PM and all!)…
It was fun and we had a great time. The next morning I was stoked to wake up and see our eggs glistening from their canola oil shellac. Life was almost ‘eggsactly’ (gotta get one cheesy expression in at least!) perfect, I thought nothing could top the feeling I had the moment I looked at the eggs we had created. That is, nothing until the arrival of the magic egg onto the scene….
The Tale of the Magic Egg
At about 10 AM, Doug says something about a magic egg being in our basket of eggs and that I should crack open one of the silk-dyed eggs to see what’s inside.
My first reaction was, “Like, if you want to eat an egg, why don’t you crack open one of the regular-dyed ones, since the silk ones are so pretty?”
Doug keeps on insisting on one of the silk-dyed eggs.
“But it took so long to dye these & they are so cool!”
No really, he says, it’s a magic egg!
(Ok. At this point, any self-respecting 30-something-dating-a- wonderful-guy-grrl would be a little suspicious, but no, not me. I can be a little thick-headed at times & the thought of breaking something created by crafting overrode any semblance of reason…)
“Is this a tradition that you grew up with or something? What is it with this magic egg bit?”
At this point, poor Doug’s getting pretty insistent and starting to look a little stressed.
“OK, we’ll do it, just part, so it’s not destroyed.”
I try to crack it, but can’t. (I’m freaked by the cracking-egg-thing having grown up on egg substitute all my life…)
“You crack it.”
No, Doug says, you’re supposed to crack it.
So, Doug takes it, cracks it a little and hands it to me.
“Eww. It’s gunky. Don’t get that gunk on the sofa!” (Boy, can I nag!)
Don’t mind the gunk. Just look inside.
“Oh. There’s something in there. Is it like part of a dead chick?” (Again, that fear of eggy things rearing it’s ugly head.) “You get it out!”
So, Doug takes the egg and pries loose whatever’s inside. It’s a bluish bit of something about the size of a matchstick. He asks for a toothpick and a pin to get it undone.
“Here, I’ll do it.”
We both tangle with whatever it is. By this time I’m finally beginning to clue into the fact that this might be something Doug actually put into the egg. (Yes, before my decaffeinated coffee, I am really clueless — it’s called the placebo effect…) I unwrap it and notice that there is the word “Katie” at the top in Doug’s writing and “love” somewhere else on the paper.
I think a few thoughts to myself ranging from…
“Boy, am I an idiot!” to….
“Oh, that’s why he wanted me to open the egg!” to…
“I gotta play this cool.” to…
“There’s eggy stuff on this piece of paper! Yuck!”
By this time Doug’s looking a little worried. Like his plan really isn’t working, or fearful that his note’ll be destroyed by gross wet egg-innards.
We manage to pull apart the rest of the note. It’s a little soggy but intact. Here it is…
Ok. Now I’m kinda getting it. This is a romantic moment. Doug’s been trying so hard and I’ve been pretty uncooperative. We move over to the sofa and he asks…
Tears flow into my eyes. I’m a little overwhelmed (and the decaf is beginning to kick in…) My answer is…
Easter egg dyeing will never be the same again!