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Well, Easter has come and gone. Recently I was talking with someone about the religious implications of Easter, which have always been kind of alien to me. I grew up knowing it only as a holiday about chocolate rabbits and hidden eggs, and I've never fully adjusted to the fact that for many religious people it's a religious holiday. Wacky.
I, of course, hid eggs again this year. I hide them for my mom. See, when I was a lot younger, and had learned the terrible truth that it was in fact my mom and dad who hid chocolate eggs in the house every year, and not a giant rabbit who could walk through walls, I decided that I wanted to get in on it. So, ever since, I hide a bunch of eggs in the kitchen for my mom to look for on Easter. Like many traditions in this household, it endures to this day in spite of the fact that we're all 'too old' for it.
It was nifty that it was a nice day out so we could spend some time outside. I should have spent more time visiting the flowers. See, we've got these purplish blue flowers that come up in the lawn every year. There are more every year, and they spread sort of at random - big clumps here and there, with single ones strewn about, sometimes several feet from the rest. They're very simple flowers, but they're a nice color, and there are lots of them. They only last a couple of weeks, after which all we have is a normal lawn full of nothing but boring old grass...well, until the violets come up. Anyway, I like our lawn of wild flowers. I think it's nifty. My father doesn't seem to have anything against the ones that are out right now. He's in a continuous war with the violets for some reason, though. Go figure.
So, that was my day of family, flowers, and ancient eggs filled with unknowable evil. Well, techinically I picked up Flufador Thursday or Friday, but that's only because I didn't want to disturb Tom's mom on Easter. Wait - I think this might require some background.
Come with me now to the ancient past. 1989. My friend Tom, who at the time lived down the street, bestowed upon me at Easter a disturbing crayon and water-color decorated idiotically smiling egg with an F on it, named Flufador. I, not particularly fond of hard-boiled eggs, deposited it in the egg compartment of our refridgerator and waited for someone who liked hard-boiled eggs to eat it. Now, this is the horrible part, which you may have seen coming by this point; the egg stays there for a whole year. Ew. However, unable to pass on the opportunity presented by this, I then proceeded to give it back to him the following Easter. His horror and revulsion were matched only by his his desire to continue the evil. So I got it back from _him_ the year after that. The cycle continues to this day.
I'm sure that at some point in its history it would have been vile beyond imagining if it had broken open, but at this point there is only a dried-up blob inside it that rattles vaguely if you shake the egg. Any toxic gases that might once have been contained within have long since escaped through the air-permeable shell.
Flufador lives in a small wooden box with little metal hinges, an egg-shaped interior, and tiny carved feet, specially crafted expressly for the purpose of holding it by my uncle David. The box and the ancient egg within still changes households every year, though I now have to swap it with Tom's mother at Easter, because he doesn't live at home anymore. He's in Colorado, and we don't want to ship Flufador through the mail, fearing that he will shatter and destroy mankind. I admit that the last few years haven't quite been the same, not actually exchanging it with Tom, though Tom's mother still seems to be humoring this. She did comment this year that she doesn't quite see the point of doing this when Tom's not there, though, so maybe I'll have to hang onto Flufador next year until I see Tom in person again. We shall see. Until then, Flufador will reside in its traditional spot on top of a cabinet in its little box. There it will lurk in wait until the time is right for it to hatch and bring ruin to the world. Or something.
I, of course, hid eggs again this year. I hide them for my mom. See, when I was a lot younger, and had learned the terrible truth that it was in fact my mom and dad who hid chocolate eggs in the house every year, and not a giant rabbit who could walk through walls, I decided that I wanted to get in on it. So, ever since, I hide a bunch of eggs in the kitchen for my mom to look for on Easter. Like many traditions in this household, it endures to this day in spite of the fact that we're all 'too old' for it.
It was nifty that it was a nice day out so we could spend some time outside. I should have spent more time visiting the flowers. See, we've got these purplish blue flowers that come up in the lawn every year. There are more every year, and they spread sort of at random - big clumps here and there, with single ones strewn about, sometimes several feet from the rest. They're very simple flowers, but they're a nice color, and there are lots of them. They only last a couple of weeks, after which all we have is a normal lawn full of nothing but boring old grass...well, until the violets come up. Anyway, I like our lawn of wild flowers. I think it's nifty. My father doesn't seem to have anything against the ones that are out right now. He's in a continuous war with the violets for some reason, though. Go figure.
So, that was my day of family, flowers, and ancient eggs filled with unknowable evil. Well, techinically I picked up Flufador Thursday or Friday, but that's only because I didn't want to disturb Tom's mom on Easter. Wait - I think this might require some background.
Come with me now to the ancient past. 1989. My friend Tom, who at the time lived down the street, bestowed upon me at Easter a disturbing crayon and water-color decorated idiotically smiling egg with an F on it, named Flufador. I, not particularly fond of hard-boiled eggs, deposited it in the egg compartment of our refridgerator and waited for someone who liked hard-boiled eggs to eat it. Now, this is the horrible part, which you may have seen coming by this point; the egg stays there for a whole year. Ew. However, unable to pass on the opportunity presented by this, I then proceeded to give it back to him the following Easter. His horror and revulsion were matched only by his his desire to continue the evil. So I got it back from _him_ the year after that. The cycle continues to this day.
I'm sure that at some point in its history it would have been vile beyond imagining if it had broken open, but at this point there is only a dried-up blob inside it that rattles vaguely if you shake the egg. Any toxic gases that might once have been contained within have long since escaped through the air-permeable shell.
Flufador lives in a small wooden box with little metal hinges, an egg-shaped interior, and tiny carved feet, specially crafted expressly for the purpose of holding it by my uncle David. The box and the ancient egg within still changes households every year, though I now have to swap it with Tom's mother at Easter, because he doesn't live at home anymore. He's in Colorado, and we don't want to ship Flufador through the mail, fearing that he will shatter and destroy mankind. I admit that the last few years haven't quite been the same, not actually exchanging it with Tom, though Tom's mother still seems to be humoring this. She did comment this year that she doesn't quite see the point of doing this when Tom's not there, though, so maybe I'll have to hang onto Flufador next year until I see Tom in person again. We shall see. Until then, Flufador will reside in its traditional spot on top of a cabinet in its little box. There it will lurk in wait until the time is right for it to hatch and bring ruin to the world. Or something.
