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Authors: Paige Shelton
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at either end. It was like something I’d made in elementary school, when we’d put holes in raw eggs and then blown out the insides so we could decorate the shells. If I remembered correctly, I’d broken a few to the point of being unusable before I’d been successful. This shell had green and red bands colored around it with what I thought was marker and a paper clip hook through the shell close to one of the holes. It was a Christmas ornament; something that a kid had probably made. Who, though? My nephew, Mathis? Had Allison snuck it into the truck to surprise me? I doubted it. That wasn’t her style. Besides, Mathis would want to give it to me himself, and I didn’t think he was quite old enough to create such an item.
I turned the shell slowly. The red and green bands alternated, and in between two of them was a line of writing. I had to hold it just right to make out the black-inked numbers. I was pretty sure it read “1987.”
“Huh,” I said aloud again as I pondered what I knew about the year 1987. The one and only thing I could think of was that that was the year that Ian was born. “Ian?”
No, this wasn’t Ian’s style, either. Besides, he was an artist. Any eggshell he decorated wouldn’t be so amateurish.
“And Ian wouldn’t steal eggs from Jeannine. He’d buy them,” I rationalized aloud.
I thought about calling him, but that idea felt uncomfortable. I’d just ask him the next time I saw him. I also thought about going back into the market to ask some questions: Had anyone noticed anyone by my truck? Did anyone know anything about the egg? But I didn’t want to have to explain my surprise to Jeannine. I was pretty certain the egg had come from her stall, but there was no way to prove whether it had been purchased or stolen. Jeannine might want a full investigation into the matter, and it just didn’t seem that important.
No matter who had left the egg in my truck, I had to assume that it was a gift. I might appreciate it, given a little time to get over the nature of its bold, intrusive, and secretive delivery.
Finally, I sat it back on the seat and drove home to Hobbit. I’d see what she had to say about it.
As I steered the truck down the two-lane highway toward my small farm, thoughts of the egg gave way to thoughts about Christmas, the tree parade, more jelly, and the dozens more cookies I had to bake.
The jelly and the cookies would happen, one jar and one dozen at a time. I just had to take the time in the kitchen. The two parade days were always days that I looked forward to, and this year was no exception. I would bid on some trees, and I would lose because my budget wasn’t quite as large as those of the highest bidders. The money always went to a great cause, so it was good to be outbid, and good to know that people in and around Monson were so generous.
Sam and I would attend together this year, which would give us both a chance to think creatively about decorating our own tree. Our own tree?
My heart skipped a little at the idea, but not so much that it scared me. It was a new life to get used to, and something I was finding that I wanted more with every passing day.
My parents were in town this year, too. Though Mom would sneeze her way through the parade, she had never missed one unless she and Dad were away on an RV adventure.
My entire family would be together this year, and though we weren’t much into gift giving, we were all very into family. I did always try to think of a little something special as gift for them and for close friends. Often, my gifts were something made in my kitchen or something from the market. Jalapeño-mint jelly, along with some bread from Stella, a Bailey’s baker, would be perfect. I’d need to put some jelly aside today if that’s what I chose to do.
And, there was Sam. Our first Christmas together as a couple. What in the world would I get him? I hadn’t been able to come up with the perfect gift yet. We were only a week
I turned the shell slowly. The red and green bands alternated, and in between two of them was a line of writing. I had to hold it just right to make out the black-inked numbers. I was pretty sure it read “1987.”
“Huh,” I said aloud again as I pondered what I knew about the year 1987. The one and only thing I could think of was that that was the year that Ian was born. “Ian?”
No, this wasn’t Ian’s style, either. Besides, he was an artist. Any eggshell he decorated wouldn’t be so amateurish.
“And Ian wouldn’t steal eggs from Jeannine. He’d buy them,” I rationalized aloud.
I thought about calling him, but that idea felt uncomfortable. I’d just ask him the next time I saw him. I also thought about going back into the market to ask some questions: Had anyone noticed anyone by my truck? Did anyone know anything about the egg? But I didn’t want to have to explain my surprise to Jeannine. I was pretty certain the egg had come from her stall, but there was no way to prove whether it had been purchased or stolen. Jeannine might want a full investigation into the matter, and it just didn’t seem that important.
No matter who had left the egg in my truck, I had to assume that it was a gift. I might appreciate it, given a little time to get over the nature of its bold, intrusive, and secretive delivery.
Finally, I sat it back on the seat and drove home to Hobbit. I’d see what she had to say about it.
As I steered the truck down the two-lane highway toward my small farm, thoughts of the egg gave way to thoughts about Christmas, the tree parade, more jelly, and the dozens more cookies I had to bake.
The jelly and the cookies would happen, one jar and one dozen at a time. I just had to take the time in the kitchen. The two parade days were always days that I looked forward to, and this year was no exception. I would bid on some trees, and I would lose because my budget wasn’t quite as large as those of the highest bidders. The money always went to a great cause, so it was good to be outbid, and good to know that people in and around Monson were so generous.
Sam and I would attend together this year, which would give us both a chance to think creatively about decorating our own tree. Our own tree?
My heart skipped a little at the idea, but not so much that it scared me. It was a new life to get used to, and something I was finding that I wanted more with every passing day.
My parents were in town this year, too. Though Mom would sneeze her way through the parade, she had never missed one unless she and Dad were away on an RV adventure.
My entire family would be together this year, and though we weren’t much into gift giving, we were all very into family. I did always try to think of a little something special as gift for them and for close friends. Often, my gifts were something made in my kitchen or something from the market. Jalapeño-mint jelly, along with some bread from Stella, a Bailey’s baker, would be perfect. I’d need to put some jelly aside today if that’s what I chose to do.
And, there was Sam. Our first Christmas together as a couple. What in the world would I get him? I hadn’t been able to come up with the perfect gift yet. We were only a week
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