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Eggs Come From Where? by Carol Wells

I remember Mamaw being a loving but no-nonsense woman that possessed amazing skills when it came to cooking and handiwork. She and I had a close relationship in my younger years and, subsequently, she had an influence over me even later in my life - long after her passing.

A few short years after my parents moved from southern Indiana to central Indiana, due to my father getting a teaching contract at a school in the area, they also moved Mamaw so she could be closer to my parents. My father was Mamaw and Papaw's oldest child but Papaw passed away a few years before my birth so I never got a chance to know him except through stories.

Mamaw's apartment was one of two on the first floor in a 2-story Victorian house along Main Street around two blocks west of downtown. Later I realized she lived in an efficiency apartment - although a rather roomy one even by today's standards. In my younger years, however, I thought her place was neat as heck, after you went in the entry that it was one big room divided into sections simply by furniture placement.

My mother took me to visit Mamaw almost every day. I have fond memories of sitting on the hardwood floor, at her feet, watching cartoons while she crocheted or embroidered. It was those memories that later prompted me to learn how to crochet doilies.

Occasionally she would have a large plate of M & M cookies that my brother would wolf down when he tagged along with Mom to pick me up. Mamaw, however, always had a little glass pie plate of egg custard waiting inside of the refrigerator for me to enjoy after watching Popeye cartoons - her special treat just for me.

I doubt she minded making the egg custard. This velvety taste treat distracted me long enough for her to change the channel so she could watch her favorite soap opera - The Edge of Night.

Gawd, I loved her custard - the boxed stuff doesn't come close and I have yet to have my own "from scratch" attempts match hers. Then again, my Mamaw enjoyed showing off her cooking skills - which I did not inherit. It came as no surprise to me hearing that her and Papaw once owned a small restaurant. There used to be pictures of Dad and his siblings posing - in their roller skates - outside of the restaurant. (Roller skating being a hobby and not that Mamaw and Papaw had them working as carhops.)

I used to enjoy eating eggs. Hard or soft-boiled, over hard - medium - or soft … however way Mamaw decided to cook them was good enough for me. Then, one day, for whatever reason on her part, she told little 5-year old me where eggs came from. I cant recall if I asked her why she rinsed off the eggs before cooking them or what that helped prompt her to sharing this bit of trivia. Now when I say she told me where I mean she told me where; apparently Mamaw did not feel it was sufficient to just say that eggs came from chickens.

I found this to be a disturbing bit of information. I looked at the hard-boiled egg on my plate while mentally recalling chickens were not that large of an animal. Then my imagination decided to chime in by trying to envision a chicken laying an egg. All I could say was, "Ow! The poor chicken!" Then "Ew! How sick," while pushing the plate away, unable to bring myself to eat the egg.

For close to five years I refused to eat eggs. My mother was less than thrilled that her mother-in-law somehow managing to turn me off eggs; which in turn ruined my mother's traditional Sunday morning meal as I would fuss about even a smidgen of egg appearing on my plate or I would shield my eyes to not see the other people enjoying their eggs. I imagine the little gagging sounds from my side of the table did not help have the meal more enjoyable for my mother either.

My brother, ever so willing to help the rest of the family on getting me to eat eggs again, would take a big bite of his eggs. Then, with his mouth still full, say stuff like "Mm-mmm, these things that come out of chicken butts sure taste great!" or "Come on, Carol, eat one - it doesn't matter they came out of a chicken's butt that much, does it?"

The memories of those afternoons with Mamaw remain deeply cherished but, even after this time I still do not like eggs that much. Egg custard, however, will always be my favorite special treat.

Cough and sneezes spread diseases.
-- 1942 UK wartime health slogan

Humor Is Relative thanks Cay Dickson, from the Houston Chronicle, for the compliment!

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