You've probably noticed that my productivity this month has dropped off significantly. Writer's block? Not exactly. Life has gotten in the way and, in particular, the passing of a generation has stymied my creativity. My stepmom died last week, and as is so often the case with those battling a terminal disease, the speed of her decline was both a blessing and a shock. Emotionally, I was on a different timeline, one that would allow at least a few more conversations, maybe even one more visit. Instead, a generation in my family slipped away before my siblings and I really had time to ponder what this means. We are the sole survivors who will now need to take it upon ourselves to plan gatherings. It's up to us to pass down stories and traditions to keep our parents' memories alive. As with most new stages in life, I feel woefully unprepared, maybe because I'm the baby in the family. For every ten pictures taken of my brother as a baby, I got one. My brother and sister always joke about the little blue book that mom and dad gave them to teach about the bird and bees; I never saw that infamous book. By the time I rolled into the family, my mom wasn't being taught by her German housekeeper that children need firm limits from time to time. "Brooksie's hiney's not made from china" is folklore in our family. I am not disappointed about any of this. There are certain realities that are due to our birth order, something none of us has control over. There's no denying its influence on our personalities, just as there's no denying the importance of siblings. My brother, sister, and I are all different individuals, but we do share our heritage, and at the core this gives us a special bond. We also love and miss the generation that created and molded us. Those memories, thankfully, will never go away.
Beautiful, aren't they? There's something about farm fresh eggs that almost makes me want to quit my day job and become a lady farmer. Almost. For now I will settle for my son's occasional post as head keeper of a friend's menagerie, which happens to include ten chickens. Fortunately for me, these chickens are prolific producers, so when our friends go on vacation, we are the happy recipients of many beautiful eggs. At first we revel in the most scrumptious omelets and scrambled concoctions. By day four or five, however, I admit to often having egg overload. Not this time. As soon as these eggs started appearing, I began thinking about Ramos Gin Fizzes because when made the old fashioned way, they contain an egg white. If you're like me, this news would normally bring a halt to my experimentation. But my new stock of farm fresh eggs gave me reason to carry on because they came from chickens that I have watched cluck and roost, and that makes all the differen...
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