the egg man

 

well my dear ones,

 

 

No, I’m not talking about the egg man

in the “I am the eggman” line

from the 1967 John Lennon song, The Walrus

(which was supposedly written to confound

 those who would analyze Beatles songs,

 written after John received a letter from

 a student at Quarry Bank High School,

 his Alma Mater,

 telling John that his teacher was

 conducting a class on the analysis

 of Beatles songs).

 

Neither do I mean “Egg Man,”

as in the fourth track of

the 1989 studio album, Paul’s Boutique,

by the Beastie Boys.

 

I’m talking about the actual egg man,

as in the guy who used to deliver eggs

to our house when I was a kid.

 

I was listening to a blurb on the radio

about things from the past

with which people from today

are not growing up.

 

The egg man

was the first thing that came to mind.

 

A friend of mine told me that you can,

in some rural areas,

still put in a request with a farmer

to deliver fresh eggs to your house;

but that seems like a special case;

when I was a kid,

the egg man was the guy who

took the eggs from the out-lying farm

and brought them to all the houses

in our suburban neighborhood.

 

Yes, no one I knew ate store-bought eggs

*shrugs*

...that’s just how it was.

 

And the egg man...

I don’t even remember his name,

because that’s how my Mom referred to him,

“The Egg Man,” like it was a title...

the egg man came to our house every week,

in his station wagon,

with stacks and stacks of egg cartons

piled up in the back.

 

He’d come in and check with my Mom

as to how many dozen eggs she wanted;

then he’d go back to his ‘wagon,’

get the specified number, and bring them in.

 

After that, he was in no hurry to leave.

(most people weren’t in much of a hurry

 back in those days...something to ponder)

My Mom, like my wife, is an empath;

she helps people by listening to their woes;

even when she doesn’t give advice,

people feel their burdens lightened

by leaving some of their load with her.

 

Hence, each week, the egg man would

sit at the kitchen table,

and talk about his Mom

(who had health issues),

or any other of his woes;

and my Mom would listen,

and inject a word here or there

to try and lift him up.

 

So, as I heard that blurb on the radio,

I thought,

“How sad that most people today

 won’t get the chance to

 sit at the kitchen table

 and learn about life

 as they watch their Mom listen

 and try to lighten the burdens

 of the egg man.”

 

Now we just go to the grocery store

and pick up a Styrofoam carton of eggs

from the refrigerated section...

it’s all very convenient,

but it seems like...well...

like we are touching life in fewer ways.

 

Yet as I think about it,

there are just as many, if not more,

people in need of a friendly ear today

as there were back then.

 

They won’t be walking into your house

and sitting down at your kitchen table,

but they could still use a word or two

to lift them up.

 

The guy stocking shelves

who has a daughter in hospital,

the girl behind the counter

who’s afraid her cat may not come back,

...how can we know about these things?

 

If we move a little more slowly,

and watch for clues to others’ emotions,

God will give us the chance

to see other people’s pain,

and to be a blessing to them

even in the most crowded and busy places.

 

So go ahead; move less franticly;

observe more intently;

and keep an uplifting word or two

in your back pocket.

 

I think the egg man would be proud of you.

 

 

Have a great week! =)

 

grace, peace, and love to you,

dave