Eggs-plosion

Swinging open the refrigerator door, I leaned into the shelves and gazed. Nothing was exciting. Easter was just celebrated and now the festive food was gone. But still sitting there were plenty of egg cartons jammed full. Why? Because this year, I chose to step away from our tradition of boiling and painting cooled eggshells with pastel colors. It was once a great time, … the delightful laughter of four children staining their hands as they dipped eggs into the coloring. Now, photo memories swirled in my head edged with sepia-color and scents of dank ink.  

So why not try something new? Why not feast on plain, but perfectly peeled, smooth eggs? Hmm…  Recently, I came upon a microwave cooking gadget that would do just that.

Rustling though the pantry, sitting tight in an unopened box was this gadget. Taking it out, I placed this over-sized, ostrich-egg machine on the counter. It looked innocent enough, like a mini space ship ready to tour the universe. I set out the pieces and read the directions with close attention. The eggs were to be arranged just so in the contraption and closed with handles tightly secured.  Did I cover everything?  Think so, as I placed the pod into the microwave oven. 

I couldn’t wait.

In just minutes, I would have perfectly cooked eggs, peels off, ready for salt and pepper, and perhaps a dollop of strawberry jam.

Smack! Thud!

I ran to the oven and witnessed a lightning storm flashing inside. Tearing open the door, the egg pod burst, spinning and spewing its content. In seconds, gooey white ligaments tangled in my hair, hung off my nose and chin. Turning, I saw smeared egg mush coat the kitchen wall, cabinets, and floor. Chuckling and yelling, I wondered … how could doing everything right go this wrong? Would I ever eat a boiled egg again? Or anything with a trace of it?

In moments, heavy footsteps came running in. My husband. Together we both knelt, and laughed as we swept the kitchen and washed the walls. Then, ever so gently, he wiped off pieces of egg goo from my hair and face.    

 I was still very annoyed and embarrassed. It was as if an audience was watching. They were snickering and throwing eggs at me; which is quite possibly the origin of such a humiliating reaction. Yes, this egg-plosion was oddly familiar, reminding me of another time. 

Many years ago, I was involved in a large, traveling chorale. This singing group presented a musical experience as seen through the eyes of the narrator, the biblical disciple, Peter. In need of soloists, the director planned for an evening of try-outs. Quickly, I jotted down the date. Then, I crossed it off. Not for me. Best to be lost in the back row, minding my own business.

But next to me, my good friend nudged my arm. “Hey you should go to these try-outs.”

“What did you say?”

“You heard me. You could easily be a soloist … you’d do great.”

My brain froze, wanting to tell my friend how wrong this all was... but, in a moment, she was up and gone.

For days, that crossed-off event saturated each cell in my brain. It tiptoed into each daily moment and often appeared in my dreams. Then the day of the auditions came. 

I had to fend off thoughts of failure … of falling off the stage or forgetting how to sing. Ugh. I did not want to be laughed out-of-town or have eggs thrown at me. During these challenging ruminations, the sound of my friend’s voice would interrupt - a sincere, honest voice of someone who believed in me.

I knew I had to go.

When I arrived, the line was already long. So many in the choir wanted these parts. I took a place at the end of the line.  A reprieve. The parts might all be taken before they got to me. Or, so I hoped.

One by one, men and women stepped up to the mike. Wonderful, intriguing voices resounded pleasantly in my ear. They then took their seats to await the director’s decision. 

The line was getting shorter … soon it would be my turn.

Oh no! Butterflies in my stomach were whirling around. Maybe I should leave now. Suddenly, only two ladies were in front of me and the woman behind me turned and left.

The Director ushered me forward and nodded. I gulped. Would the eggs start flying? The audition song beckoned and my entire body tensed. I could feel little prickles standing up on the back of my neck. The air filled with electric expectation. Holding the mike tight, the first note came forth with ease and grace. Letting go of self, I sang with heart, embracing the essence of the music.

There was a hush.

The Director lifted his head, his blue eyes dancing, his smile huge. Grabbing my hand, he shook it tight.  “Well, you got the part! That is, if you want it.” Catching the gleam in his eye, I nodded yes.

Moments later my good friend popped a lovely bouquet of red roses in my arms. “What is this?”

“’Because I knew you could do it!”

And I did. In fact, for several years … it was a special ride, always to be remembered.

However I will not put another egg pod in the microwave.  Nor will I speak of that embarrassing egg-plosion catastrophe. There are simply so many other ways to enjoy breakfast.

“Scrambled eggs anyone?”

… “and that’s how I live it.”