There are better snacks.
A man looks good when he’s working. That’s the reason we all try to make our jobs a big deal. The thought came to me as I sliced sausage tonight. The sausages are for breakfast, a frittata of meat and vegetable, baked into egg. I’m up, feeling it in my back, standing in the kitchen because it was good. And the recipe was easy. It’s no simple task for a lazy person to admit ease. It would deflate my whole personality- aggrandizement of the mundane- making mountains of molehills.
This work isn’t particularly hard, when I do what I like. It’s time I choose to spend. And with that, today’s work is tomorrow’s prep.
If you don’t scrub the toilets, it’s not your home. I burned my hand. Am I cooking yet?
I am learning fast. Skillet recipes are not trifles. You leave something in the 350 degree oven for 10 minutes, it will greet you with a start. I wrote about the cold on March 2nd; I could feel my exposed thumb ringing.
I left the kitchen and returned casually. I took the frittata out with an oven-mitted hand. I did not move it with one, though, and my right hand rings once again.
I didn’t mention it. This lesson I could feel in my finger tips, the lengths of the digits themselves. It’s tender now, though I hoped it would cool. Raising my temperature in any way, right now it’s a brisk pace on the walking pad, sends sharp ringing to my right hand.
It got me thinking. We don’t read books because they don’t ring. A lot of life goes on less urgent than other parts. When we look back, it will be those things we regret.
Right now, my hand burns with the regret of not paying attention. But I will eat that egg bake with vigor. I wouldn’t change what happened- not even the pain. There are some lessons worth the tuition.