I once studied with a curandera in Mexico who actually “read” you through an egg yolk. Well, I don’t have to travel to Mexico to learn from an egg. I just need to be in my kitchen. This morning, as I’m happily cracking local eggs (thank you, Jen!), I turned back to the bowl and spilled everything — down the counter and into the wood floor and all the little cracks.
In my usual Zen way, I let out a string of audible curses, paused, and let out another string as I grabbed the sponge. Love my eggs. Raw, runny eggs? Not so much.
It should be noted that I am a total klutz. Put a cup of tea or martini in front of me and guaranteed, it will more than likely end up in the keyboard or on my lap (or yours). I’m like my friend Laurie, who steps into a room and all of the electronics go haywire. Beverages do that to me. Now add eggs to that list.
As I’m wiping up the mess — still cursing — I remember the wisdom of my friend Jacki from Moon Dog Cafe years ago. After I made the perfect latte and, of course, spilled it all over the bar, she shrugged and said, “Maybe you would’ve gotten food poisoning from it. It’s just a latte. Make another.”
I always recall that conversation when things like this happen. Maybe the eggs would’ve made me sick. Who knows? But I love the idea of an unseen hand tipping over the bowl rather than me being klutzy. And it gives a total new meaning to “don’t cry over spilled eggs.”