THERE'S A LITTLE GOOD NEWS ABOUT EGGS

oR tHE eGG MAN COMETH

I eat eggs. Boiled mainly, so shells are vital.

My preference is brown eggs. Omega 3 eggs, although I don't know why or what Omega 3 is. Come to think of it, maybe only Omegas come in white. Who could know?

But to the good news. Researchers indicate that if you eat an egg for breakfast, you won't want to eat as much the rest of the day. The egg; a diet curber. Now if I eat a three-egg omelet, I wonder if I'll be even less desirous of food?

Lately my fifteen minutes of boiling 3 eggs on the stove has resulted in the eggs not being fully cooked. I added salt, thinking the shells weren't holding up. No luck. So I'm boiling them now for 20 minutes. That's really not right because what I mean is I'm heating them up to a boil. The process takes 20.

I don't eat three a day. I refrigerate the other two and re-heat by putting them on the toast in the toaster for my two slices of toast per day. Along with two cups of black coffee and sometimes fresh squeezed OJ, and my breakfast is complete.

But some days, I think my body forgets that I ate an egg.

NO ONE TO NARRATE

What is wrong with this great picture from Nashville? Why, there's no one in the photo to narrate.

Our son and his high school friends in an effort to enlighten their lives began the art of narrating. Briefly, narrating is just that.

With windows rolled down in the car, one passenger or driver shouts out what he observes. As we were narrated on Tuesday night in MTV by our son," Parents walking. Walking in the rain. Freezing because they're from Arizona." And that's it.

It was night and there were no others on the street at that time which lessens the effect. He just wanted to let us know that he still narrates on occasion.

When others are around it serves to embarrass them. Sometimes they react. Then the narrator may make a comment that is not flattering. Or he may choose to be objective in his reporting to whatever ears are out there.

It was harmless back in the '90's. Today, I'd probably be a little more selective in narrating. The only shots back then were verbal. Maybe not so today.

MIDNIGHT CONFESSIONS

The old Grassroots song for some reason makes me think of a high school/juco friend. The last time I saw him, he was driving by an old high school girlfriend's house.

She lived on our street. It was 10 years after he had graduated. She didn't live there anymore. He didn't even live in town. He was married; in fact, he may have had his young daughter in the car with him. Memory doesn't serve.

There was nothing evil in his actions. No urging to re-new, no longing to go back. Wait a minute. How did I know? Did I tell you we only exchanged waves. That's true.

But I know Johnny. That's the way he is. He was merely reminiscing. Taking a look at where he'd been. What he had done.

I know that, how? Midnight confessions shared in either my car or his at the end of an evening. There was always a lot of bull, but if you sifted through it, deep feelings were revealed, though hidden. For some reason we found the other easy to confide in. He shared the loves of his life and I shared mine. We knew they would go no farther.

Though at one of my high school reunions, I broke the trust and told one of old loves how much he cared for her. She knew, of course. But my reminding her, made her day.

It's funny who we share with. And why. I still remember some of his girlfriends from back when. I imagine he could tell you about some of mine.

WHAT'S THE SOUND

when a heart falls on sand? And who's heart is it?

I think it's the girl's in the picture. I think it leaped from her chest. Just at the wrong time.

She was exposing her deepest feelings to the man. She's the one with outstretched hand. She's the one we see face-on. She's the one who made the move.

On closer observation, one can see how stiff he is. Almost rigid. His body language is screaming, "I'm not ready."

But she more than shared her heart; she gave her all.

When he did not reciprocate, the heart fell. But the thud was muffled.

All is not lost. She can recover it. She can give it to another. She'll remember when she offerred it here.

And she'll remember to offer it again to one more appreciative. The offer will again be on the beach. Even a strong heart can't take too many bumps and bruises.

HOW ARE THEY BLINDS

when they does just the opposite? They allow you to see. The un-blinds.

That's just the way it is with words. Connotation, denotation, misnomers.

I wrote a poem the other day while driving.

SOME OF MY UNFAVORITE WORDS

I don't like words

Like tissue and trousers and galoshes

(now try to rhyme that one)

Except for Al Gore and Michael Moore

(The words that rhyme, that is)

For as far as the two people

They're on my unfavorite list.

And that was it. I guess it needs work.

I like John Legend's singing a lot. I saw part of his concert in Rome the other night on some new station we get. Dave Matthews, too. And some sirius radio stations. But some are horrible.

I'm quitting now. Thank goodness. But that's why I do some of my most disconnected thinking while I drive.

SO BLUE

I've been in shell. As in shell shocked.

I can hardly function. But I predicted it. I didn't have a good feeling. Sometimes I hate it when I'm dead on.

It's hard to put a label. Hard to pinpoint. But it was there even though it was covered up. Hidden. Masked away.

The St. Louis Cardinals were lost. And they couldn't re-coup.

For nearly two months they were baseball's best team. Maybe the Cardinals best team ever. But it wasn't at the right time. Not if they wanted more than a divisional championship. Which is all they achieved this season after being swept by the Dodgers in the first round of the NL playoffs.

As I was finishing the last piece of a a doctored up frozen California (irony) pizza at the end of Game 2, I was all set to arise and announce to my wife "Now who has home field advantage?"

It didn't happen because Matt Holliday dropped a fly ball that glanced off his gut. The writing was on the proverbial wall. The Birds on the Bat lost and succumbed (does suck come from that word?) on Saturday night 5-1. One (series) and done.

So, I'm blue. Some losses are harder to get over than others. This was one of those kinds. Hopefully it won't last as long as the 1985 World Series or 2002 Super Bowl loss, but it could.