Posted tagged ‘Eggs’

“Fine, but if and when the zombies team up with the mummies to take over the world, you can’t live in my underground bunker.”

June 24, 2017

The air is damp and chilly. The day is so dark that Gracie’s lights came on when she was in the backyard. There is a constant breeze which sometimes blows hard enough to be a wind. It is not an inviting day. The birds sang earlier, but they are gone now. Everything is quiet. Gracie is in her crate sleeping. Maddie is standing under the table lamp getting warm. Her fur is hot to the touch. Animals know how to tbe comfortable.

I have to get more dog food so I’ll be going out later. Other than that, my dance card is empty. I did my laundry yesterday, a huge accomplishment for me as I usually leave it in the hall long enough for the dirty clothes to double in number. I do admit, though, that the clean clothes didn’t make it upstairs yet. They’re on a living room chair. They’ll go up today, maybe.

I fell asleep early last night. The TV and all the lights were left on until about 1:30 when I woke up. I then took Gracie out to pee. I couldn’t even see the house next door in the deep darkness.

Oops, my lights just went out for a minute, long enough that I have to reset appliances and my cable box has to reboot. It has also started raining. At first it was a mist, but it’s now a heavy rain. I can hear it against the windows, and I can see a sheet of rain falling off the eaves outside my den window. The day has become even less inviting.

Last night I made a divine supper sandwich. I toasted English muffins, slathered them with guacamole and then added tomatoes, bacon, and eggs. Every bite was delicious though a bit messy. I blame that on the eggs.

I wonder how much longer the zombie fad will last. It took a while for the undead to take over from vampires, but they did, big time. I’m figuring animals, as in The Zoo, are the next threat to humanity’s survival, but, if that doesn’t work, we can always go back to hostile aliens. They never go out of style.

 

“‘Twas Easter-Sunday. The full-blossomed trees Filled all the air with fragrance and with joy.”

April 16, 2017

Happy Easter!!

Alexa woke me up at 7:15 this morning so I could go down the street and decorate the tree beside my friends’ deck. It is a tradition. I draped garlands, old cards and egg shaped ornaments all over the tree then left quickly. I hate getting caught. I’ll go back down to my friends’ house later for baskets then we’ll leave for dinner.

It is a glorious Easter Sunday, sunny and warm, perfect for showing off new clothes and whirling dresses. The pictures will all be outside in front of budding trees, flowering bushes and the bright bulb flowers like the dafs and hyacinths.

When I was a kid, we wore our new clothes to church then over to my grandparents’ house in East Boston. My grandparents always had special Easter treats for all of us like candy and small baskets. I have one very distinct memory of an Easter Sunday with them in East Boston. My grandparents lived in an apartment before they moved a couple of streets away to a house. The apartment was the one on the second floor. My great-grandfather was still alive and living with my grandparents. He used to sit on a rocking chair in the room with the big gas heater. He’d yell and spit. We used to run as fast as we could to get by him to get to the TV room. I remember all of that, and I remember the Easter he snatched my basket away from me. I don’t remember the snatching, but I remember the horror, and I remember running to the kitchen crying to tell my mother what happened. My grandmother came to the rescue and got my basket back. I stayed in the kitchen for the rest of the visit.

When I was down the street this morning, I noticed the house across the street had eggs all over the grass and under trees. Later I heard the kids hunting and one yelling that he’d found more eggs. I figured he’d gotten to the lawn which had tons of eggs scattered  all over, no hunting skills required. The eggs were all colored plastic unlike the eggs of my day which were real, hard-boiled colored by hand eggs. Sometimes the count of found eggs was less than the count of hidden eggs. That’s why outside hunting was always best.

I hope you have the loveliest of Sundays and a wonderful Easter.

“If anyone does not have three minutes in his life to make an omelette, then life is not worth living.”

February 26, 2017

Today is a bit cooler than yesterday, but it is sunny and bright with only a few clouds moving across the blue sky. It is a pretty day.

It was a leisurely morning. I had an extra cup of coffee and read most of the Globe. I’ll get to the Cape Times later.

I really love breakfast, especially eggs and bacon. When I go out, I get my eggs over easy and my bacon crisp. Nothing is worse than undercooked bacon. I also order rye or wheat toast, a necessity for sopping up the yoke spread on the plate. When I have nothing defrosted or planned for dinner, I always have eggs. Sometimes I make omelets with cheese and jalapeño and maybe a bit of ham if I have any. Most times, though, I cook my eggs over easy. I usually break a yolk.

When my parents and I traveled together, my father hated breakfast in most countries, England and Ireland being the exceptions. He said he didn’t want lunch for breakfast, didn’t want the cold cuts and cheeses my mother and I loved. In the Netherlands, at one hotel, they served an egg in an egg cup. My father was gleeful. He took his knife to lop off the top of the egg but the egg shell stayed intact. He tried again which was when he noticed the shell was broken. It was a hard-boiled egg. My mother and I felt bad for him. The poor man had such a look of disappointment.

I always had two eggs and two pieces of toast for breakfast in Ghana. The eggs were fried in peanut oil, groundnut oil to the Ghanaians. It added a wonderful taste to the eggs. When I came home, it took me a while to get used to the bland fried eggs.

I love deviled eggs. My mother made them for almost every barbecue. My friend Clare often makes them. I never make them myself, and I haven’t any idea why.

It is almost Cadbury egg day. The fried egg chocolate was the one I used to eat until the caramel and the chocolate eggs appeared. They are my favorites. In my Easter basket one year, my mother tucked in a small Matchbook size of the Cadbury creme egg car. It sits on the shelf in here next to the Spam car.

Okay, all this talk of eggs has made me hungry.

“May you live every day of your life.”

January 13, 2017

Today is the last of the warmth. Cold is coming tonight when it will be down to the 20’s. Luckily, though, the snow is gone, and the ground is far drier than it had been. The mud is back to dirt. It is time to wash the kitchen floor. It is filled with paw prints. I can’t remember when it was ever this dirty.

Gracie and I will be out and about today. I have a couple of stops to make. She would be disappointed if I didn’t take her.

My days lack structure. I read the papers and drink coffee in the morning, and that’s my only routine. Sometimes I make my bed but mostly I don’t. I eat when I’m hungry. Cereal and eggs are often lunch and even dinner, seldom breakfast. My fridge is filled with food easy to eat just as it is like tabouli, yesterday’s lunch. If I’m in the mood, I cook dinner. Chicken is a favorite. Mashed potatoes already cooked are generally my side of choice. I eat a vegetable if I have one. I buy salad in the bag and add things like dried cranberries. My bread is naan or pita bread for the hummus and tabouli. Around the middle of the month when my larder starts to get empty, I treat myself to take-out. My favorite place is Spinners where I can get Mexican, soup or pizza. I’m also a fan of Chinese food.

My bedtime is whenever I’m tired. It is usually after midnight, sometimes as late as two or three. I wake up whenever. This morning a phone call woke me at nine. I tried to go back to sleep but couldn’t. The phone call was a robocall. I made coffee.

I pretty much wear the same type clothes every day: pants, a shirt and, in winter, a sweatshirt. Seldom do I go anywhere which demands dressy clothes. That’s just fine with me. If I go out to eat, I skip the sweatshirt.

My life is uncomplicated. I really enjoy it that way.

 

 

“One should not attend even the end of the world without a good breakfast.”

August 30, 2015

The house feels hot and a bit clammy. The humidity has returned. Gracie just sits in front of me and pants. If I were a dog, I’d do the same thing.

When I was a kid, I was a morning cocoa drinker. Two of my siblings were tea drinkers. My mother would put a nice tea pot on the table rather than putting the teabags in mugs. For my cocoa, she’d mix the powder with some milk, stir it together then add the water. Some mornings she made eggs. Other mornings we had cereal. We always had toast. She sometimes made soft-boiled eggs and put them in yellow, chicken-shaped egg cups. She always lopped off the top of the eggs. I loved how she used to cut the toast. It was the perfect size for dipping into the eggs. Oatmeal was common in the winter, the old-fashioned kind which took some time. My mother kept a good variety of dry cereals, including each of our favorites. I never gave those breakfasts much thought. It never occurred to me how early she had to get up. Not only did she make our breakfasts but also our lunches, great lunches, the envy of our friends. We never said thanks. We finished breakfast, grabbed our lunches, kissed her good-bye and ran out the door. Kids just don’t think sometimes to say thanks for the every day.

There is a slight breeze as I can hear my chimes now and then. The birds are noisy. I don’t hear any people.

I have nothing to do today except maybe the laundry still sitting by the cellar door, but it doesn’t bother me much so it may sit there a while longer. I am not even dressed yet. I don’t care. There is no urgency in putting on clothes. I do love this life of leisure.

“Easter is meant to be a symbol of hope, renewal, and new life.”

April 5, 2015

Happy Easter and Happy Passover!

This morning my alarm jolted me awake at 6:15. I went down to my friends’ house to decorate the tree by their deck, an Easter custom. I hung a cardboard tiled banner with Peep in the middle and a chick on each side, several colored eggs and a small glass flower pot with a hyacinth. It was cold, only 34˚, and quiet until I heard the loud gobbles of wild turkeys. Four huge toms appeared on the front lawn across the street. Their tails were fanned. They strutted across the lawn, gobbled again, together as if they practiced, and went around back. I watched until they disappeared. Wild turkeys are common here, but these were the biggest I’ve seen.

After I finished decorating, Gracie and I went to the ATM and then to Dunkin’ Donuts. I didn’t see another car until the main road. It is quiet in neighborhoods on Easter morning. At Dunkin’ Donuts I was third in line.

The day is sunny and bright.

This afternoon we’ll get gussied up and go to our Easter dinner at the Ocean House. I think it is the only day I voluntarily wear a dress and fancy shoes. We always wait for a window table as the restaurant looks right onto the rocks and the ocean; hence its name. Out the windows you can see and hear the gulls circling over the water. If there is wind, there are whitecaps.

It doesn’t matter how many times I see the ocean or the gulls or the rocks because every time is mesmerizing. The waves slap the rocks and water flies into the air. Gulls walk on the wet sand and leave their footprints. They always seem to look proud as they walk.

During dinner we chat, laugh, take pictures, all sorts of pictures, and often look out the window. We always say how beautiful it is and how lovely the view. We also always say how lucky we are.

“I believe in rituals.”

October 16, 2014

Last night it rained and today it is supposed to rain again, heavily. The sun is popping in and out of the clouds. The temperatures of the last couple of days have been in the 70’s with mild nights in the 60’s. My windows are opened and the front door still has its screen. Gracie sits there and looks out for the longest time. I wonder what keeps her interest as my street is a quiet one. I stand with her every now and then just to keep her company.

All my life I have had morning rituals. During my childhood the weekday mornings were always the same. Get up, get dressed, eat breakfast, do teeth then walk to school. For breakfast I always drank cocoa. My mother gave us toast and eggs and in the winter we had oatmeal, the sort which always has lumps. When I was in high school, I had to get up earlier and getting the bus was added to the ritual. In college, I grabbed breakfast on the way out, and every morning my friends and I would sit together in the canteen, drink coffee and race each other in finishing the newspaper’s crossword puzzle. Usually we worked in teams of two. When I was in Ghana, I had the same thing every morning: horrible coffee, two fried eggs and toast. The eggs were cooked in peanut oil, and they were the best fried eggs I ever had. If I had a break in classes, I’d walk to my house and have another cup of coffee and sit on the porch to drink it. Breakfast never varied. I had margarine on my toast as butter was imported and not in my budget. I’d sometimes add groundnut paste, the Ghanaian version of thick, thick peanut butter which needed to be mixed with peanut oil to make it spreadable. The Ghanaians used it as a soup base. Those mornings in Ghana were amazing, every single day.

When I started teaching, I got up 5, had two cups of coffee, read as much of the paper as I could, got dressed and left for school at 6:20. On the way to school, I’d stop at Dunkin’ Donuts for a medium coffee. I did that every weekday until I retired.

In retirement I haven’t changed much though now I get up whenever. I feed the cats, fill the water dish, fill the dog’s dry food dish, let the dog out, put the coffee on and get the papers in the driveway. Sometimes I have toast and sometimes I have a bagel but mostly I just have coffee, usually two cups, one with each paper. I take my time reading the papers. I then check my e-mail and finally start writing Coffee.

I think of my mornings as ritual, as almost sacred.

“I went to a restaurant that serves “breakfast at any time” so I ordered French toast during the Renaissance.”

March 1, 2013

Gracie and I finally made it to the dump yesterday morning then we went to Agway, a store which welcomes dogs on a leash. It was a perfect Gracie day. In the afternoon it rained a little, but in the late afternoon the sun made another attempt to break through but wasn’t successful. I figure the sun got a bit miffed and decided to stay away a bit longer. Today’s weather is like yesterday’s and the day before that and on and on: cloudy with a chance of rain. The forecast does change a bit for tonight: cloudy with a chance of snow showers. I’m beginning to feel like a mole. (Since I posted this the sun has managed to break through the clouds for just a little while. At first I thought it was a meteor signaling the end of the Earth but my instinctive memories managed to resurrect the word sun.)

I was a cocoa drinker most school mornings when I was a kid. My brother or sister (I forget which one) was a tea drinker. My mother always served the tea in a flowered pot. Thinking back on that, it’s kind of neat to have a pretty pot on the table in the morning though back then I didn’t appreciate the gesture. My cocoa was made in the cup. My mother would put some cocoa granules in the cup, add some milk, stir the two together then add hot water. The cocoa always had some bubbles on the top. We  usually had toast, and in the winter my mother would make oatmeal to sustain us on the cold walk to school. My favorite breakfast was boiled eggs served in egg cups. The eggs cups were yellow chickens. Many were missing their beaks. My mother toasted the bread and sliced it into strips so we could dunk it in the egg. She’d cut the top off the egg and we’d dunk for the yolk. I have those egg cups now. My mother gave them to me when I moved into my house. She thought I should have some memories from my childhood. The egg cups have Fannie Farmer etched across the bottom. I never noticed that when I was a kid.

I had cereal for breakfast yesterday for the first time in years. I think that’s why my childhood breakfast memories popped into my head. Cereal was our warm school morning breakfast and our Saturday morning watch TV breakfast. My mother had boxes of different cereals lined up in the kitchen. My brother liked Cheerios. I was a Rice Krispies fan. I think Corn Flakes also made an appearance though we thought it was an adult cereal. It didn’t do tricks like snap, crackle or pop. I like Corn Flakes now so maybe we weren’t far off. I think a banana really dresses up a bowl of Corn Flakes.

This morning I had coffee and an onion bagel with cream cheese. It was a most satisfying breakfast.

I’m Putting All My Eggs in One Basket: Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers

April 23, 2011