You pluck an egg out of the carton and marvel at it’s shape, it’s chalky, delicate shell. You wonder how such a miracle can plop from the undercarriage of a feathered foul. You think about a tiny life that might have been, living to cluck and strut. You hope the insides of this oval never met its maker.
To scramble, to fry or boil. To omelet or not. To Quiche or custard. Ah, but first, you must crack that outer case over a pan, a bowl or carefully immerse it in cold water brought to a boil. With great care you crack open the egg. Tiny flecks float in the gelatinous mass, egads egg shells. You poke and prod, you try to release the intruders before they disappear from sight. Even if you are the only eater of the egg, the presence of eggs shells causes distaste. Even the humble hard-boiled egg gives you pause as you peel and most of the white clings to its outer shell.
As I pondered the lowly egg I thought about ‘walking on egg shells’ – one must often tread lightly, especially over the holidays. If you step too hard, you may make cracks in relationships. If communications are unclear then friendships can become scrambled. Peeling away at faults can make a person hard-boiled. Everyone has specks which we may find annoying, many even feel like intruders into our personal space.
Hoping that this season will find us all combined into a warm and fluffy human omelet-sometimes, hammy,spicy, cheesy, flecks and all.
Then there’s that slogan from years ago – “The Incredible, Editable Egg.”