25 February, 2011

Eggs. Victorian Ladies. and the American Way.

The incredible edible egg. I like eggs but they are not so wonderful for me. I love em poached, fried, scrambled, hard boiled, soft boiled, and in egg salad. But I buy my eggs. I get the brown ones that are organic and cage free. When I go to the Farmer's Market next week I'll look for some that are colored and try them. Do they have yolks that match the shells?

Recently a blogger that I read once in a while said she received eggs from a member of her husbands congregation in lieu of bringing an offering. How wonderful she said it was to get them for her home. Uh, did they count the value of the egg in their salary estimates? Why didn't she share the eggs with a soup kitchen or homeless shelter? Nope. She kept the entire dozen to herself. She perhaps thought that a dozen eggs wouldn't be much to a kitchen, but they would help making cornbread, regular bread, cakes, cookies and other things. She is one of the self absorbed adoring Victoriana's of the internet. I once pointed out to her the crassness of this, as ladies who leisured had servants as young as 8 downstairs toiling to make upstairs comfortable. This of course is not discussed. Child labor? Unthinkable. Women working? Well who the hell were the ladies maids? People who volunteered to serve? Who sewed the lovely dresses and made the lace to adorn the hats of the ladies who lunched? Not the ladies to be sure.

I'm off to the house of Costco this afternoon. Hopefully before the rain comes down. Then I am here to read to my books from a new publisher (to me). I'm reading about dying. Morbid. No. It's about how we've basically erased the culture of death that was normal for so many years. People weren't unaccustomed to death. They had family at home and they died at home (now hospice is bringing some of that back). Caskets sat in living rooms. Friends and neighbors came to reminisce and offer condolences, bring food and offer support. Now the dying for the most part in America are in sterile hospital rooms surrounded by nurses, doctors and various sundry staff, attached to machines to monitor the least of functions. We ache to prolong the life experience so that we don't lose those that we love, but are we doing what is right? I watched my stepdad come home from the hospital, basically comatose from a swelling of the brain. His brain basically burned out but the controls were still there. It was decided not to continue feeding him - that would have meant inserting a tube. Hospice was there to keep him comfortable. To keep him from pain, but to be home with his family around. We don't know if he heard us, but we included him in conversations and told him we loved him. It was incredibly hard but we managed.

So we're back from Costco and the last of the stuff got into the garage before the rain started. I lit the fire and am going to go out and read when I get this posted. It feels so cold outside. The snow level is supposed to come down to 500 feet. We're at 62 feet. I just want to be warm. Nothing else but warm today. Heck I even have socks on. 

So peace to all.

Da bunny

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