Om . . . elet

Well, I was going to name this post Eggs, but I'm at the point now where I have to go back and read every post title since January 25, just to make sure I'm not repeating myself.  (It's exhausting, mind you.)  And sure enough, on April 20, which happened to be Easter, I wrote a post called Eggs.

So today, you get Omelet.  But an omelet has to begin somewhere, so:

Here they are.

This is my older daughter's last night here before she heads back to Florida.  My other daughter is in the city visiting friends and taking in an Old Crow Medicine Show concert, so it's just the two of us here.  Dinner for two?  Breakfast sounds good.

I got the home fries going first, of course.  Then, some sauteed veggies:  mushrooms, tomatoes, peppers, onion, basil, and Swiss chard.  (All but the mushrooms came from the garden.)  Sourdough bread in the toaster, then add the eggs and cheese to the veggies.  Voila!  Breakfast for dinner!

It's a fitting "last supper" for my first-born.  After all, she did begin with an egg.  (Mine.)  The two of us are as mixed up as an omelet.  Bright colors, different textures, a little bit cheesy, lots of good stuff blended together into a delicious and satisfying necessity.  Yep, that's us.  Hold the (artificial) ketchup.

And now we're going to watch a movie.  After, I will have a hard time sleeping, knowing that she will be away from me again, living her own life, 1300 miles from here.  But we stick together . . . just like the omelet remains are stuck to the bottom of the pan.  And now, having really stretched the acceptable boundaries of figurative language, I will end this post, in which I fell in love with an omelet.