There's something about growing up on a farm that can affect the senses of overly sensitive kids. I always thought I was a tough tomboy, but basically, things affected me that others would take in stride. Living on a farm changed my viewpoint--from neutral to negative--on eggs and milk. I quit drinking milk at age seven, and quit eating eggs at nine. I can't tolerate the smell or looks of either. But...for some reason, I love to collect eggs of every sort (except fresh ones) and have quite a collection.
This basket is quite large, and although not detectable in this photo, it holds about 45 eggs made of glass, metal, semi-precious stone and even wood. Some of these eggs go back to the 1960s when I began accumulating my collection.
This is a hand painted quail egg, purchased in an obscure little shop in Ambleside in the Lake District in England. I dropped it once while dusting and it has a tiny hairline crack.
Glass paperweight eggs, Waterford crystal eggs, hand blown eggs, lucite eggs with gold nuggets embedded in them--there are so many eggs that I really have nowhere else to store them, so I stopped adding to my collection a few years ago. Over the years I've culled my collection of the less desirable eggs and the really damaged ones, but I can't bear to part with the remainder, so I can't add new ones. It's just as well. The older I get, the fewer things I want cluttering my life. But, it's hard to dump the stuff I already have and that I really like.
"What is my loftiest ambition? I've always wanted to throw an egg at an electric fan."
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