A few months ago, I was fixing breakfast one Saturday morning. I had just finished taking photos of hummingbirds. I had cleaned the house, especially the kitchen. My wife was out of town and due to arrive home after weeks of caring for her mother who had been ill. I was multi-tasking and wishing I was not playing the part of a bachelor. I had fried the bacon and put about nine or ten eggs in a pot of water to boil them.
While I was waiting on the water to boil, I was mentally organizing my thoughts for a blog I was writing on the blue heron and a missing fish. I rushed upstairs to my office to quickly google the “blue heron” to make sure my hypothesis about the sound of water (from my pond) being an attractant for the flighty fellows was indeed correct.
As most of you who use search engines on a regular basis realize, sometimes these searches can take on a life of their own. I found endless numbers of articles on the “Blue Heron” but was having a difficult time finding information on their listening habits. Finally, I found the desired revelation and began to take notes for my blog.
What seemed to be only a few moments was actually a larger block of time.
Suddenly, I heard a loud sound. It sounded like a door slamming or someone dropping a chair. I thought maybe my son, Philip had entered from the back door and made a commotion. I called out his name and continued my research. After hearing a few more popping sounds, I finally went downstairs to see what Philip was up to.
No Philip. What I found instead was waterless pot on a red hot stove. Inside were the remnants of two or three blackened eggs already cut into chunks of yellow, white and black pieces. Over the oven egg debris coated the ceiling with pieces of egg dangling across the kitchen floor. The cabinets were covered with egg, the microwave had a new egg facade and the floor looked as if someone had spilled a bowl of deviled eggs along with their shells.
Fortunately, the eggs were not raw. They were “really hard” boiled.
Clean up was not as hard as I thought it would be. It took less than an hour.
Lately, I have boiled eggs and made iced tea. But I do not leave the sight. They say, “A watched kettle never boils”. I beg to differ. Watching a pot come to boil is almost as boring as watching paint dry, but my kitchen will never again be egged by an absent-minded blogger.