Unless you're a vegan. I'm not. I've already given up meat, poultry, and milk (but not half 'n half in my morning coffee). I could probably give up eggs, but cheese? I don't think so.
So I eat eggs maybe once every two weeks. And they never fail to satisfy. Hold the bacon.
Today is Easter Sunday, a holiday that, unlike many others, does not really depress me. I do not consider myself a Christian (although I think Jesus was probably a very cool dude), so the religious aspect of Easter is not something I feel compelled to acknowledge. And as my kids are grown and gone, bunnies and colored eggs are no longer something to celebrate. I have lots of really nice memories and photos of days when all of that mattered, but for now, a Sunday in April is a day in the garden, and that's good enough for me. I do not miss the holy ham of Easter dinner. (Hi, Jeannine!)
So why did I decide to fall in love with eggs today? Well, for obvious reasons, I guess. It is, after all, Easter. I suppose more eggs are sold the week before Easter than any other time of the year. But throughout the ages, the egg has symbolized new beginnings, the spark of creation. And that is in tune with my gardening. Seeds, eggs . . . same thing, in some ways. Rebirth.
When I was a teenager, I became enthralled with the Beat Poets, but mostly with Lawrence Ferlinghetti. His poem, I Am Waiting, pleads for a re-imagining of the world:
I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder
And I am awaiting that, too. Actually, I think that is what this blog is all about. To fall in love with wonder. Finding things in the everyday to notice and admire anew. And today, it's eggs. I am going to go scramble some now, with mushrooms and tomatoes and red onions and garden basil and, of course, cheese. And I will be in love with my dinner.
No comments:
Post a Comment