Sometime in May I flipped an omelet in the pan, just like Julia Child told us to. A flick of the wrist, a little faith, and two cooked eggs aloft, turning, landing softly. A flick, faith, and turn.
Now I literally have a different wrist. It has a metal rectangular plate inside held to my bones by pins, and outwardly looks slightly different from my left. There is a red, raised scar. Four months after surgery, there is still pain and stiffness, and I am making more of an effort not to start every conversation with “Did you know I broke my wrist?”
I made an omlet yesterday. One egg. Ghee. It slid easily onto the dish, which was more than I hoped. I added too much salt, but it was fine, nevertheless.
I am so sorry you broke your wrist, Indira! And right wrist, too. 😦 Don’t feel shy about talking about it – I’ll probably be talking about my liver transplant for the rest of my life – what better opening??? Really, feel better and cheers for greater agility.
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good Morning…Indira….congrats on the one egg omelette….healing can be a day-to-day THING….and oh…I am honoured to at least let you know of an alternative spelling on OMlet….though I LIKE yours…”OMMMMM-let”
Ha. One egg, one world…