Chasing After Wind

If hens could lay perfect eggs every time, hard boiling eggs would be a piece of cake, so to speak. It’s even more of a problem if you’re making deviled eggs. Then you want them as perfectly peeled as possible so the halves will hold the filling without breaking. In the instance pictured above, the first nine peeled perfectly, albeit not easily. I was concentrating, but trying not to concentrate too hard.

Despite all my carefulness, the tenth egg went south. The thin membrane between the egg and the shell can be a pain in the ass. Doing one thing one time and another thing another. Sticking to the shell one minute and pulling a chunk off the egg the next. The eleventh egg echoed the tenth. I didn’t know if it was the eggs or if I had altered my modus operandi without meaning to. Possibly a bit of both — who knew?

As I alluded to in the opening sentence, each egg is different. When Cyndy and I would go to any type of potluck event in the last thirty years, most of the time we would take deviled eggs. They always turned out really good, but not always the same. People would ask us for the recipe. We told them we didn’t know. It was different every time. And that had to do with the differences in eggs. The flavor of the boiled yokes dictates the amount of the different ingredients.

A few days ago, I hard boiled seven eggs. I was doing other things as well so I was late in starting the timer after the eggs started to boil. I didn’t take a picture, but they all peeled perfectly. Now, if only I knew how long I boiled them for, I could do it every time. Or not. Did I say all eggs are different?

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

The mountain pictured is not the mountain we drive around, even though in the Front Range you’re pretty much driving around some mountain all the time. This is a picture from the bottom of a hill in Colorado Springs. I, and Cyndy when she can go with me, stay with our friend, Sally, up the mountain from Colorado Springs. That’s the mountain we drive around twice when we go anywhere south. It’s nearly impossible to get a decent picture while driving around it (for the passenger).

I’ve driven around the mountain countless times in sunshine, fog, rain, dark, dark and rain, slick, not slick – you get the picture. And in all of those conditions, some idiot has passed me like he was attempting to break the sound barrier. Some moron who has seen all of the Fast Five movies seven times, watched Speed Racer as a child, and has never paid a bit of a damn attention to the “do not do this at home” warning. If he did, he came to the insane conclusion that it is freaking okay if he is not at home.

Every time they pass me I pray – and I pray out loud – that the damn fool doesn’t have a wreck in front of me.

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Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

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