Our routine, on Thursday afternoons, is that Dean (after getting the mail out of the box) gets out of the car so he can gather up the recycle bins, put them into the big garbage can, and roll the whole thing down the driveway to the garage. I follow behind him, slowly easing the car down the driveway at a distance. About half way down the driveway yesterday, he motioned for me to stop and get out of the car. I did not want to get out of the car. I was tired, it had been an unpleasant bit of driving to get home (from Wellesley, 30 miles away, via Route 128 and the Turnpike and 495 -- a drive known for it's ability to be unpleasant), and I've been hovering on the edge of a dark mood and not feeling the best. No no no, Dean motions, just get out of the car!
So I get out. And he excitedly shows me that, right on the driveway, right on the path of the tires of the car, is a robin's egg shell. It is beautiful, as Dean knew instantly -- beautiful, and precious, and worth stopping for and saving. I apologize for being grumpy. He says that's ok because I knew you'd be happy when you saw this. He's right, of course.
Somebody was asking on her blog, just this week, what "robin's egg blue" really is. Here you are. This is what it really is. An almost impossibly beautiful color for an egg to be. We've had just a bumper crop of robins in our yard this year; one even made her nest in the arborvitae right next to our front door (and she yells at us whenever we go in or out that door). Ken winces at Dean's and my passion for all things bird -- picking up feathers and old abandoned nests and empty shells seems to him an invitation to the risks of disease. But we can't resist (and we wash our hands carefully with soap).