I have been writing tidbits for years. Here’s one I wrote quite a while back. My husband has died, followed by the cat. Life has changed a lot, but not the crafted chicken. He sits today among my decorations for Easter, still a reminder of that mother’s love I wrote about.
Once again I take down the Easter decorations. And then I see it--this year nestled among the branches of the “egg tree” to protect it from the fervent clutches of the cat—I see my chicken. A wave of nostalgia washes over me and I am aghast at how fast the years have flown.
The creator of this masterpiece was/is my daughter, herself approaching 30 on her next birthday and lamenting the dilemma of “growing old.”
But, I will never truly be old as long as I hold the chicken and its creator in my heart and my mind’s eye.
I have coddled this particular chicken for 25 years now and still it has the power to evoke the memory of Easters past. What do I see in these Easter memories? . . .
--I see my parents, now both deceased, playing Easter Bunny to their granddaughter.
--I can see an array of pictures with the Bunny, through the phases of my daughter's life.
--I can see steaming hams and chilling bowls of potato salad.
--I can see springs in Atlanta, breathtaking in their presentation of “sproingling” forsythia and lacy dogwoods and azaleas.
--I see the annual collection of PEEPS for my husband, who adores these sugar concoctions.
--I see me peeling and cooking and “squirreling” around to meet the dinner deadline, breathless and cursing myself for trying to do so much at once.
I see all that through the magic power of the chicken.
And what does this magical chicken look like? Is it made of rubies and rare jewels, like the Fabergé eggs?
No--my chick is a cotton ball, rolled in dusty yellow tempera paint until he attained that Easter chicken glow. He sports two black eyes, hole-punched from black construction paper and glued on. He was then squashed into a single section cut from a Styrofoam egg carton.
But, oh bless the kindergarten teacher who conjured this particular project and assigned the task to her five-year-olds.
This seedy yellow chick does more to remind me of what Easter is than all the Fabergé’s and rare collectibles. This chick has staying power because he was created by the hands of a child and is held forever in a mother’s heart.