A Sight For Sore Eyes
The Lighter Side to Facing Vision Loss
A BAD ‘COOKING’ DAY
I stomped upstairs--which is difficult to do in a pair of brand new slippers with plastic bumps that cling to the floor. "I can change the menu for dinner. I'm not restricted to chicken, especially since last night my chicken went over like...a meal for ONE. ME!
"I'll show them how versatile I am even though they don't give me any ideas," I growled as I grabbed the diabetic cookbook off my shelf. "I'll make them a healthy yet delicious meal." The Farmstand Fritatta, a glorified omelet, looked easy enough. Cut up some veggies, let cook, broil and you're done. Fifty minutes. More than enough time.
I did a quick read-through. We had all the ingredients. That is if you didn't count the Egg Beaters and if that allowed for frozen veggies.
Egg Beaters and six egg whites. No problem. I'll use real eggs and just separate them. Wouldn't have had a problem if my dog hadn't been right there. But with him "guarding" my spot, I had to limit myself to use the corner of the cabinet space and circle around him. I tried to move him but at a sedate fifteen, he'd become pretty adept at making himself a dead weight.
So, Buddy stayed.
When I cracked my first egg, I mixed some yolk in by mistake but with a quick dip of my teaspoon, I repaired the damage. No way to save my fourth egg though. I had to set it aside. After that, I carefully cracked the rest, flipping the yolk between the two shells to catch all of the egg white dribble. Satisfied, I slid the two separate bowls to one side.
My hand touched the counter and came back slimy. Oh. I squinted. The bowl of egg whites looked pretty full. I might have sloshed it over the edge. I swooshed a dishrag over the counter but instead of the egg white soaking into the cloth, I must have pushed it over the edge - because when I moved, my slipper went whoosh! And me along with it! But the dog, noting my falling form, moved just in time and I caught myself, too.
Right on time. It would be James. "Cooking supper," I said.
"What grand disaster awaits today?" I knew he was rolling his eyes, especially when, a few minutes later, I asked him what "blanching" meant.
"You don't know what blanching means?"
"Something to do with cooking," I said innocently. I didn't really care. I had the
vegetable and that was good enough.
He let that pass. "Ooookaaay," he said. "You got the ingredients. But I've got a feeling..."
"No, no, no..." I said firmly, "Everything will be fine this time..." I skimmed the recipe as we talked. "OH NO!"
"What? Did Buddy get in your way again?"
"Now I have to mix the two sets of eggs TOGETHER," I wailed. After all that effort of separating them.
"Didn't you read the recipe in advance?"
"Of course I did. I just didn't see that part."
We chatted as I cooked.
"Ya gotta move, Buddy!" He opened a sleepy eye and closed it again.
Needing to concentrate on my task at hand, I hung up.
Now Buddy lay down directly in front of the fridge.I brushed up against him as I slowly eased the refrigerator door open. He never budged.
After cutting up some fresh parsley and whipping the egg whites and yolks together, throwing a dash of rosemary salt and black pepper into the mix, I poured it over the cooking veggies.
Oh no! I don't have enough eggs!
I had to ease open the fridge again. Buddy still refused to move. I took out the carton of eggs, hastily cracked the last two of them into the bowl I'd just set into the sink, threw in the necessary ingredients and tossed the mixture into the skillet to cook for ten minutes.
I was ready to place the egg frittata in the oven to broil. Buddy chose that moment to lie in front of the stove. "BUDDY!" I croaked. "Ya gotta mooove. This is not your BED."
I cracked open the oven to show him I meant business. He eased up and lumbered less than a foot away, just far enough to clear the oven door.
I groaned. Okay. Four minutes.
After four minutes, I looked in the oven. It looked like the cheese was very melted and starting to burn. I whipped the door open and grabbed the skillet with my mitt and slammed it on the stove burner.
The recipe said "Cook 4 feet away from the burner for 1 minute." Oh. I had it in reverse. I laughed. This would do.
Mom called up the stairs. "Is supper ready?"
"Yep. I'm bringing it now." I carefully balanced the skillet in my hand. I didn't want it to go flying and I didn't want to miss a step.
Now settled back down in front of the fridge, with one eye open my trusty Buddy watched me leave the kitchen. A big doggy sigh escaped his lips as he settled his head onto the floor. He could finally relax. One more meal over with.
A pretty good vision day for me. No catastrophes. I'd have to remember to call my friend back and gloat.