Eugenious

Sylvan, Elena, and I walked into the church hall, set with sixteen or so round tables decorated with freshly-cut, wreath-shaped centerpieces (all for sale). In the kitchen to our left, teenagers, moms and dads, and grandparents bustled past each other, many wearing red or green elf hats. They flipped pancakes, made coffee, and smiled at us. We bought three raffle tickets for a chance to win one of two kids’ bikes, decorated with bows and sitting on a side table. The CD player on the same table played Christmas carols that sometimes skipped and repeated: “Frosty the Snowman…[hic]…Frosty the Snowman…[hic]….” And there was a bake sale, all the sweet breads carefully wrapped and displayed; a cookie decorating table; a balloon artist (Sylvan got a sword and scabbard); and wing and tutu maker (we came home with a beautiful set, in purple and orange harvest colors with glittery ribbon and silk flowers; Elena wore the tutu for a second, Sylvan wore the wings all afternoon).

With a fair bit of prepping the night before and morning of, Sylvan knew what to expect: Santa, sitting in a chair, Mrs. Claus by his side, pancakes and eggs for breakfast. We told Sylvan he could sit on Santa’s knee and talk to him, but only if he wanted. And he could ask him questions, or tell him something. Sylvan decided he wanted to show Santa some books, so he put them in a bag and carried them with him to see Santa.

Santa and Mrs. Claus were gloriously free when we arrived. The place was never packed, despite the large number of cars in the church parking lot, so families wandered up to the Clauses, took photos, had breakfast, maybe meandered back to tell Santa one more thing. In short, it was the best Santa experience you can imagine, everyone relaxed and happy, not standing in an hour-long line in the fluorescent lights of the mall, hoping nobody has to pee before you get to the front of the line and have to pay someone else to take a photo when you have your digital camera in your pocket. We’ll be visiting the Clauses at the Lions Club breakfast next December, too.

Everyone smiling? How is that possible?

Enjoy some pre-egg salad pictures while I write Sylvan’s birthday letter.

You can try those natural egg dyes, like spinach, blueberries, and coffee, but in the end most of us return to food coloring, with its associated propylene glycol content (generally safe, occasional “cardiac arrest after rapid i.v. injection of drugs containing large amounts of propylene glycol solvent“). I diligently brewed spinach, coffee, and blueberry “teas,” strained the foodstuffs out with cheesecloth, added vinegar, and those pretty, earthy dyes yielded underwhelming tannish eggs.

Although the prettiest egg, in my opinion, the tan one on the right with the purplish-brown overdye, has a coffee first coat (yeah, I know, I could have just bought tan eggs). The bright pinks and greens are the result of unadulterated food coloring, and the purples, browns, and dark greens bloomed from Sylvan’s forays into mixing and pouring. All the mottling comes from mixing dyes with olive oil, creating a resist-dye, like a batik.