Getting Old & Fumble Fingers

 

Getting older is a chore. Everything hurts, nothing works. It’s frustrating. The high point of my life these days is going to the grocery store. Because of Covid my hubby still REFUSES to travel. And we go little if anywhere. Climbing up into my van is difficult, at best, but I manage to go it alone sometimes. And escaping the daily monotony is a thrill. I’m vaccinated. No worries. So... I travel a couple miles up the road, to the supermarket and find a parking place. I wobble to where the scooters are inside and get on board one, with a charge. Then the fun begins as I navigate my way around the store finding what I need. It brings me joy to be getting out of the house and seeing what new items are lurking on the shelves.  When I’m done picking and choosing what’s what, I check out. I then load the van up with my haul and  head back home. There, you know the drill. I have to unpack it all and put it away inside. Well the last time I did this, I had fumble fingers. Because I have neuropathy in my hands, sometimes they don’t work so well. I had reached into the van to grab a bag. I have hooks on back of my seats that hold the bags. They are quite high up. As I pulled the bag off, I realized it was heavier than I anticipated and I accidently dropped it. My fingers just didn't work. SPLAT right on the driveway apron. This was from a height of about 3 to 4ft. I screamed, mad at myself for being so clumsy. When I looked in the plastic bag to see if anything was broken, I suddenly realized there were two cartons of eggs in it. I knew without a doubt they had to be lost, for hard boiling. My husband was going to be disappointed. I managed to get everything else out of the vehicle and inside without further incidence. But I felt stupid for the mishap. There were two cartons of eggs, like I said. Amazingly the one on top received NOT one bit of damage and the eggs were completely intact when I opened the lid. The other one, on the bottom, however, did not fare so well. Shells and yolks were everywhere. When my husband saw the mess he was going to dump the bag and carton into the trash. I screamed no, I could salvage them. I put all the groceries away and then spent the next fifteen minutes picking shells out of the mixture inside the carton. When I was done, I poured some oil into my saucepan on the stove, and added the broken eggs, sans shells. Threw in some Old Bay seasoning, added a touch of milk and some smoked oysters to the mix, beating it up. And made an omelet. No harm done.  A happy ending. “Waste not, want not.”  Have you ever had this happen to you?