(Place on page 55 after para 8 "it wasn't for me..")
My enthusiasm for art wasn't wasted. I became the 'family artist." Every year I was counted on to design and color our annual Easter eggs. I painstakingly etched personal hard-boiled eggs for all family members, complete with names, logos and crafty decorations. I was pretty proud of myself, and if I failed to color Easter eggs one year, they would actually be missed. Hardly anyone ever ate the eggs ior took them home. They were just there, on the Easter dinner table. It soon became a modest family tradition, encouraged by Mom, that Greg paints the Easter eggs.
I even made an annual "Memorial Egg," in homor of the deceased family members. The rggs were symbols of simplier times in the 70s and 80s.
40 years later, Holly was cleaning out the basement and found two cardboard boxes full of musty, dusty Easter eggs. My mother, God bless her soul, secretly kept my finest art work all those years. Somehow the eggs survived. Those memories, once as faded as the colors on those time-worn eggs, became vivid and vibrant again, proof once again how much Mom really loved me.
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