I can’t say I did anything different this morning.
With the time that a holiday morning brings, I took a skillet out and turned on the burner. Leaning my glass bowl over the sink, I brought the wire whisk down into two eggs and beat them steadily with the milk. Later I chopped parsley that had stayed fresh enough from its purchase earlier in the week and sprinkled it over the eggs in the skillet.
Two slices of multi-grain bread went into the toaster. The small exhaust fan over the stove whirred.
At what I guessed to be the right moment, I grasped the handle and tipped the skillet, first this way, then that. The eggs, puffy and just dry, slid this way, then that. Spatula ready just in case, I tipped and tilted the skillet until it hovered over the plate. I jiggled again.
The yellow folds of the eggs slid onto the plate, the parsley a creamy green under the surface.
Nothing had stuck. My simple meal, the first of 2010, was simply fine.
Finishing the last bites of buttered toast a few minutes later, I thought of the lunch a friend had taken me to this week. In a Chinese restaurant that was new to me, the meal and the company both just the easy-going thing for the final week of the year, I joked when the bill came with fortune cookies.
Would the eerie appropriateness of the fortunes that had punctuated my lunches this past year in a Chinese restaurant near work follow me here?
“Today’s a day to nourish yourself. Feed yourself well,” I read aloud.
“I have,” I said, smiling up at my buddy, “and I will.”
Winter neighborhoods through which I rode later that day put me in mind of the approaching turn of the year. I know I welcome this one, despite the snows and the cold, with a greater readiness to be nourished and surprised than twelve months ago.
On the desk in my bedroom is another recent lunchtime fortune: “Believe it can be done.”
All right, 2010, I do believe.
Just let me know what “it” is when I’m ready for it.