So the other day, I was at the grocery store where I passed numerous Easter displays and saw that nearly every cart which passed me by contained a carton of eggs. And I thought: eggs... hmmmmm... because when was the last time I had eggs? You know, fried, scrambled, or a nice puffy omelet? And I tell you, I used to make a mean omelet.
I haven't cooked in as many months and years as it's been since Bob's stroke. I can't remember the last time I picked up my omelet pan. Because when your husband has a feeding tube, why bother cooking? Though I do remember the last time I turned on the stove top. That was when Bob's OT needed some water boiled so she could mold his hand splint. That was when every single burner I turned on lit up like a torch. I nearly set the house afire. I kid you not.
But I decided right then and there, in the grocery store, I would buy myself some eggs and make an omelet.
I nearly dropped that carton of eggs when I got out to The Green Machine. As when I went to open the car door, there on the handle was -- a lizard.
Now, I'm not afraid of lizards. And this particular lizard was one of those small, cute-ish ones, you know like the one who sells insurance on TV. But still, he startled the heck out of me. I tried to shoo him away, but instead of jumping to the ground, he scampered down the side of the car and then jumped up on the hood.
So I put my grocery bag in the car and then commenced to try to shoo him off the hood. Because I really didn't want to drive off with the poor guy perched on the hood of The Green Machine. As it would mean certain death for him. And a smashed lizard on the windshield for me.
Now The Green Machine is a 1970's car and I am a 5'4" woman, so therefore I cannot reach all the way across the hood. And every time I tried to shoo that lizard, he sprinted to the other side of the hood. At which point, I would run to the other side of the hood and try to shoo him again.
So there we were, lizard scampering back and forth across the hood. Me--chasing circles around the car. In the grocery store parking lot. I can't imagine what people thought. I finally gave up.
I figured maybe if I started the car, the sound of the engine would scare him off the hood.
Which I did. The result of which was that the lizard sort of freaked out, stood up on his tiptoes and lifted his tail as high as he could off the hood. And remained frozen there. In sort of a lizard ballet pose.
That's when I noticed a second lizard. On the windshield wiper. Jeepers. So now I have two lizards facing certain death on my car.
So I got out of the car and grabbed the rag I use to check the oil and after slapping the rag around a bit, was finally able to shoo them both off the hood, onto the ground---where they both ran under The Green Machine. And I thought, oh no. Now I'm going to run them over when I back up.
But I wasn't about to get on my hands and knees trying to shoo them out from under the car. So I said a quick Prayer for Lizard Safety, held my breath and drove off. I do hope they survived.
When I got home, I swear, coming up the wheelchair ramp, I encountered not one, not two, but perhaps a dozen or more lizards all glaring rather accusingly at me.
But back to the eggs...
My thought had been to make an omelet. But I realized, after I was home, that I didn't have a single ingredient for an omelet, except eggs. And I found my olive oil had solidified on the cupboard shelf. And there wasn't a stick of butter in the fridge. Even the salt was all clumpy. The pepper not much better. And when I searched for the omelet pan in the bin where we store our pots, I tell you, it was rather like unearthing something from an archeological dig. The pan was covered with cobwebs.
But I did not give up. I cleaned up the pan and decided to fry an egg using that cholesterol-free-can't-believe-it's-not-butter stuff. But first, I made sure the burners were free of dust. No need to set the house afire this time.
Even so, the kitchen was soon filled with smoke. That egg was quite blackened and a bit crunchy.... Pretty much burnt to a crisp. But I ate it anyway....
So my next bright idea was to boil the rest of the eggs. I'm not even going to tell you how that one turned out. And that was after I had to ask my mother for directions.
This from a woman with 30 cookbooks on her shelf.
I tell you, sometimes I swear, Bob wasn't the only one brain damaged from this stroke...
Meanwhile, Bob is slowly recovering from pneumonia. So, we've been taking things easy here at The Pink House.