Soft-Boiled Eggs

They remind me of my mother. She always ate them out of these little darling cups, and spooned the top off juuuuuust right and would sometimes let me scoop the egg white out of the discarded top. When I try to do this, even as an adult, I can never get the entrance tap just right, and it ends up being more like a joust between me and the egg. Then yolk is splattered everywhere, and I have to go change my clothes.

Runny, and frighteningly similar to the color of mucus during the windy season in Tejas, these seem to be my Mom's favorite little treat. She took a long nap this morning well in to the afternoon, continues to drink plenty of water, and kept down a soft-boiled egg she made herself this afternoon. When I spoke to her, she had just tidied the house a bit, and was sitting down to read a magazine (from the impressive stack Marilyn has supplied, I assume).

She officially can cross one medication off her list, because she's completed her course of antibiotics to kick the UTI. This is especially exciting because this monster pill always seems to give Mom and upset stomach. We're in no short supply of those symptoms as it is, thank you.