Free range eggs with a side of Lyme

When you lift the lid on a dozen farm fresh eggs, it is like opening God's jewelry box. Beautiful Blues, Greens, Tans, Browns, Creams...each hen unique in the color and size of egg that she lays. I love eggs, especially free-range that were gathered just that morning. That was my first job as a kid: running out to the coop at my grandparents' little farm house to collect what our hens spent the early morning hours contributing. I was taught to always leave one in the nest so she would come back.

As I went through my usual morning routine today, the dry cat food cup slipped out of my hand on the counter, scattering 30 or so pieces of kibble. I scooped them into the 3 bowls. Next I opened a can of wet food and dribbled some before it made it to the bowls as the spoon slipped in my hand. I spilled water trying to fill the coffee pot then dropped the dish towel I got out to clean up the whole mess. Naturally, I also knocked over the little medicine cup I'd just filled with my morning supplements. In other words, just another typical morning in the life of someone suffering with Lyme's symptoms.

Back to the eggs. I finally learned to carry the whole carton over to the stove instead of just taking one out of the refrigerator. There is no telling how many eggs I have busted on the floor during that 1-step shuffle over the last year or so. First hurdle over, I put some butter in my granny's cast iron skillet and waited for the perfect sizzle. I really enjoy them Over-Easy, but I have gotten to where I scramble them because it is quicker...and chances are I'll break the yolk anyway these days. I was determined this morning, though.

  

I chose a beautiful light blue egg, probably laid by an Ameraucana (I have intel that this particuar hen at the farm is named Cher). I lightly cracked it on the edge of the pan, my hands were twitching a bit, but again I was determined. It slid perfectly and gently into the butter...so far so good. As I timed it for The Flip, I appreciated the lovely, vivid tangerine-colored yolk that only happens with hens allowed to run free outdoors. I even thanked Cher for her effort. I took my time with the spatula, thought I had it! But no, it slipped in my numbed hand and the yolk broke. Sigh...there's always tomorrow. It doesn't have to be perfect to still taste yummy.

The whole thing got me to thinking about how those of us who suffer from this imbalance are a lot like eggs. Most of us acquired these symptoms by roaming freely outdoors. I probably picked up my infected parasite while hiking. And though we have developed a hard outer shell to protect ourselves from what is going on within our bodies and minds, we are indeed quite fragile. We crack easily if we try to juggle too many tasks at once, so please handle us gently. We feel Scrambled too often, Over-Medium frequently, and long for more Sunny-Side-Up days.