journal 05: egg salad
October 29th, 2023
October 24th, 2023
I stand over the garbage can peeling the crumbling shells off boiled eggs and I wonder how many she used to peel. My Nana, with her elegant hands, long fingernails, hair swept up in a working bun. In her kitchen peeling eggs. It must have been a lot. It must have taken a few eggs to feed me and my sister, my mother and father, my Grampy and herself. Especially considering two of us were ravenous kids and four of us worked up an appetite on the drive to Goderich. We would plan a visit and she would peel eggs.
She always ordered bread and donuts from the local bakery and Grampy would take a walk to get them for her. It was just down the street and across the octagonal town square. An easy walk for a lifelong farmer.
Those eggs were mixed with mayonnaise and cans of tuna were mixed with mayonnaise and both were sandwiched between slices of bread. We would arrive and talk and eat egg salad sandwiches and even though they were simple, they were made by Nana and that made them special.
I peel four eggs until they are soft and white in my hand, each small piece of shell carefully discarded, and I add them to a ceramic dish to be mixed with mayonnaise. But I will wait until morning to spread them on bread. As fresh as they can be before I make the drive. And I will remember to cut the crusts off her portions.
Time makes me laugh, well and often. It keeps moving and yet things repeat themselves, only the order is different. Now I make food for my Nana. Now I peel the eggs and feed her. It is both my turn and my privilege.
A few visits ago, she complimented my egg salad. This was obviously high praise and yet this very thing came from her. We never shared a kitchen, but each of those childhood visits spent eating egg salad sandwiches remained with me. And now those precious moments of memory have evolved into a beloved ritual. This egg salad will always be hers and ours, it could never just be mine. And it will be shared again and again. In this way we practice care. It is our legacy to love each other.
October 25th, 2023
As we said goodbye at the end of our visit- a quiet afternoon in her room- she looked up at me and asked, “We will have another escapade soon, won’t we?” I nodded of course. I love her sense of humour. I love that she called it an escapade. My heart swells and breaks at the same time, filled with an impossibility that can’t be named grief, but love. Or perhaps life.
She’ll call it an escapade. I’ll call it a picnic. And I’ll bring the egg salad.