On Fragility
Having an "egg-sistential" crisis?
I’m having a moment. I think maybe we all are.
A “Humpty Dumpty” moment. Wherein you’ve taken quite a tumble, found yourself in pieces and are not feeling confident that “all the king’s horses and all the king’s men” can or will put things together again.
I feel ya.
It’s been a month. Lots to fret about. From micro to macro, local to global, the worries continue to pile up. Our foundations seem tenuous; our connections fewer, random and strained to the breaking point. Beliefs questioned. Truths doubted. Constant feelings of anxiety and overwhelm. What is our purpose? Where — in all the chaos — can we find meaning?
Yes, I’m a little fragile. Existential crisis, anyone?
Thankfully, it’s nearly Easter. Spring is once more enveloping me in its relentless rebirth of beauty — a true balm to the soul. My drive last week along Missouri Highways 52, 54 and 42 gave me the glory of native dogwoods, brilliant white clouds hung low in the still-gray woods. Pops of purple redbud. The soft green haze of the hills as trees put forth their tentative first fingers of leaf and new limb.
And here at home, it’s time to get out the eggs.
At the Anderson household, we have a special tradition of coloring and dyeing eggs. When we had kids at home, we spread newspapers across the kitchen table and plopped the PAAS dye tablets in mugs with white vinegar and water before divvying up a couple dozen hard-boiled eggs (to ensure the painstaking artist got to do as many masterpieces as the dip-n-done-style decorator).
But in addition, my maternal grandfather many years ago began our custom of creating “blown” eggs, too. By making a tiny hole on each pole of an egg with a needle and blowing on one end until your cheeks hurt, you can remove the yolk and white (I recommend aiming into a bowl to minimize mess) without cracking the shell. After the egg housing completely drains and dries, Anderson artists typically decorate one or two eggs that we can keep and display year after year. Since we do so few, much thought and effort goes into each whimsical creation. It’s not just pleasurable to have your hard work last — rather than being callously cracked and discarded for a batch of dye-tinged egg salad the following week — but it’s also a fun reminder of what was going on in our lives and the larger world.
From favorite sports teams and pastimes to Presidents and beloved pets and cartoon characters, the collection is a time capsule showcasing where we’ve been, what and who we love(d). How we’ve grown. We’ve amassed well over a hundred eggs.
As I carefully stack, shift and arrange the eggs in a pleasing pile in their nest of plastic grass, I’m always reminded how fragile they are. And yet… miraculously resilient. An incredible delivery system for the perpetuation of chicken life — and a healthy breakfast or necessary ingredient in a sinful cheesecake for us humans.
When my oldest was at summer camp, there was a science competition to make a protective box for a raw egg — an activity that would likely not be a sanctioned these days, given egg prices! The kids were given size and material parameters (think cotton balls, balsa wood, plastic straws, rubber bands, cardboard, etc.), and were encouraged to design a safe space in which an egg could survive being dropped from the heights of a fireman’s bucket ladder. Splat, splat, splat. The very few eggs that made it were not spared, but sent to progressively higher heights and dropped again until a winner emerged (a tie-breaker, as it were)! Impressive.
Of course, over the years, there have been some casualties in our own collection. Sad, to be sure. I often find it hard to toss the remnants of family artistry, as shown below:
Another “egg-sistential” crisis…
Similarly, I find it difficult to arrange the decorative eggs in baskets every year. I want to highlight each and every one — so many memories! — yet some must necessarily be on the bottom, largely hidden from view. Then, when I am done moving around these ovoid works of art, I find myself strangely soothed. Yes, we are fragile. And it can feel as if we are being dropped several stories from a bucket ladder with just a cotton ball and a makeshift raft of striped plastic straws between us and the pavement.
But just look at us — all of us — together. Aren’t we beautiful to behold? In our differences, our sameness. In our brokenness and fragility. In our strength.
Happy Easter, if you celebrate. And to all of you: let’s keep recognizing and honoring beauty and truth where we can find it. And creating it where it isn’t… and is most desperately needed.
What I’m reading:
All the Colors of the Dark, by Chris Whitaker. I went to see this author when he visited Left Bank Books last year. I’d read that this was a Missouri story and I was understandably anxious to hear more. Come to find out, this British author had never set foot in Missouri until the book tour! Was I skeptical? Yes. But no longer. This is a beautifully written and researched novel, an abduction story, a serial killer story, a love story and a tribute to small town America. Kudos!
The Wedding People, by Alison Espach. I was charmed by all of these neurotic and all-too-human members of the wedding. A woman contemplating suicide accidentally gets swept up in a week-long marriage celebration and insanity ensues. Equal parts humor and heartstrings!
UPDATE ON THE MOONSHINE WOMEN, by Yours Truly. There is news! The release date has been pushed back until March 31, 2026… less than a year away and the waiting is the hardest part. I am anxious to see the cover design and will share it soon!
What I’m listening to:
“Fast Car” and “Revolution,” Tracy Chapman. One of my all time favorite artists and I’m enjoying hearing her music again with the re-release of her 1988 album. Still as moving and relevant as it was then.
“Sugar in the Tank,” Julien Baker & TORRES
What I’m watching:
Slow Horses, Apple TV
Man on the Inside, HBO Max
“The Encampments,” limited-release new and timely documentary film featuring detained student activist Mahmoud Khalil takes you inside America's student uprising at Columbia University.
Lovely refleggshion, but you’ve eggzaggerared our artistic eggcellence!! Luv you!❤️
It is no coincidence that Easter occurs during the Spring. And the fragility of our world is not greater at this time, the players and settings are just different like the scenes of a play. This life is an experience, never destined to be perfect but to shape and educate us. I love your words and look forward to your next book!