Buckeyes

Aunt Peg is my grandfather's sister.  She has dementia or Alzheimer's...

so I was going to reflect on Townshend-ian sentiments  ("I hope I die before I get old" etc...)

however, my last two posts are regarding 1) the bad "isms" plaguing my generation

and 2) politics

thus, I've decided to keep this one light.

I like my fried eggs over-easy.

Mom would cut a circle out of a piece of italian bread and fry the egg in the hole.  She called it a Buckeye.  Mom learned the technique from Aunt Peg.

Buckeyes from Mom were always perfect.

I'm the chef now, and the finished product is generally over cooked,

or occasionally under cooked.

and each ruined breakfast makes me think about Mom and Aunt Peg

and how special their souls must be

to make perfect buckeyes every time.