5:03 a.m. - 2023-06-16
eggy noods
Maybe it's a by-product of solitude, of living and working alone. Or perhaps it reflects a deeper spiritual connection with the material world...a psycik attenuation and acknowledgment of my role as a participant-in (and steward-of?) our shared existence? The fact that I talk not only to myself and the mouser and all of the birds and my hoofed ranch-mates here, but also to inanimate objects? That I casually address my shop tools and lumber stock and, of course, my truck? Also a certain oft-cursed stubborn fence-gate and my wheezing (we know yer trying buddy, hang in there!) air conditioner...plus these pencils and coffee cups and my guitars and all the rest of the sublimely charismatic (albeit unresponsive) co-stars in my daily drama?
It's probably that first thing I mentioned though, right? The solitude bit...
Anyway, I was boiling egg noodles the other day. And, as can be the case w/egg noodles and their starchy tendencies, a few refused to participate in the colander-dump with their pasta peers. Clinging instead to the sides of the still-hot but now emptied pot. This, of course, would not do; and the situation had to be be addressed...someone had to say something.
“C'mon now eggy noods, we ain't got time for this biz...just get on in the sink. Get on in with your buds now.”
I know what you're thinking here (and no, not that part about how I've finally lost my mind)...you're thinking "Hey, 'eggy noods' totally rhymes with 'Peggy Sue', doesn't it?". And yes, I thought the same thing. So naturally I felt compelled, as I scraped at the last sticky lollygaggers w/a wooden spoon, to change my tone. To trade my impatient-chef's bark for the nasal (yet dulcet) West Texas timbre of the late great Buddy Holly and sing it on out for l'audience al-dente:
I love you, Eggy Noods, with a love so rare and true
My Eggy, my Eggy Noo-oo-oods (oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oods)
Well I love you guys, and I want you Eggy Noods
Oh but we have fun out here.
