This is not a revolutionary gift by any means. Like many things related to my family, it has a back story: For as long as I can remember, there has been a yellow, plastic egg separator in my parents' kitchen. It may have been Tupperware, but I'm not entirely sure about that. We had a lot of Tupperware when I was a kid (as did any suburban family in the mid-late 1980s). It was the egg separator of every Sunday breakfast and of countless Christmas cookie baking days. This model was great because it would rest across the edge of the prep bowls perfectly, making egg separating a snap. It survived at least seven moves, including a move back and forth from Hawaii. One day, about two years ago, the yellow egg separator disappeared. No one seems to know what happened to it. I suspect it was accidentally thrown away. This is the only explanation that makes sense.
Now my father has not gone two years without an egg separator. A replacement separator was purchased, but it is not the right egg separator. It's a metal, wire version. It's not the same. I admit, some of my feelings about the yellow egg separator are wrapped in the constant wave of nostalgia I've been riding since we began cleaning out my parents' basement. I'm both incredibly sentimental about the things we unearth, which have been hiding in the basement for at least a decade, but I'm also the first one to say "throw it away." Some things, like the wooden salad bowl we used forever, needed to go, but the egg separator was being used and felt necessary. The new separator is totally fine; my dad's egg prep is still on point (he makes the best fried eggs), but he doesn't like the new separator. It doesn't work as well and it doesn't fit over the little prep bowl he uses when he makes eggs. Little things like this shouldn't be so complicated or annoying. Since the yellow separator went missing, anytime I'm out and about and come across kitchen utensils, I always looks at the egg separators, hoping to find something similar to the one we lost. I usually strike out. Until last weekend.
After our morning at Crumbs & Whiskers, Anita and I made our way back to Virginia and ventured to a random store called Hollin Hall Variety Store off Fort Hunt Road in Alexandria. Walking into this store is like walking into an old-store general store, complete with a penny candy aisle and weird knickknacks that would make anyone who likes awkwardly adorable knickknacks incredibly happy. It's the kind of place where you can buy fabric off the bolt, ant killer, and puzzles all at the same time. Before there were dollar stores, there were variety stores. As I wandered down each aisle, because it's a requirement to walk down every aisle in a store like this, I considered buying completely unnecessary items like buttons I'll never sew on anything, cookie cutters, a dinosaur hobby horse, and Nordic Ware bundt pans. I came upon a display of kitchen utensils that made the baker in me sigh given the sheer volume of possibility. Among the utensils, I found the egg separator. It's not an exact match to the lost one, but it's pretty close. I texted the photo to my brother and asked him to ask dad if he wanted it. Even if he had said no, I would have purchased the egg separator. He did not say no. He's getting an egg separator for Easter. That's a dad joke waiting to happen.
This isn't so much about the egg separator, but about the idea of finding the egg separator. This is exactly the kind of thing my dad does. Things get mentioned to him, even in passing, and they eventually appear. Sometimes he's legitimately not listening, but most of the time he's listening just enough to make it matter. A few Christmases ago, he asked me what I wanted and I, being the smart ass I am, said a unicorn. Well, he bought me a unicorn pendant. It's one of the few pieces of jewelry I wear regularly. That's the kind of human my dad is. What this episode has made clear to me is that I'm turning into my dad in small ways. Mention something random to me and I will find it for you. It might take me years to accomplish, but one day I'll be wandering the aisles at a time warp variety store and whatever you wanted will magically appear. You might not need or want the item anymore, but I'm still going to buy it for you.
What will be next on the road to becoming my parents?
Want something more Easter-y for your weekend reading? Check out my short story series "House of Peeps" - who knew Peeps could be so dangerous? The original story can be found here. The sequel, "Return of the Peeps" can be found here and here.
