A chicken lays an egg. She nurtures the egg. Her life’s purpose is that egg.
An egg must never be scrambled lightly. Respect must be paid. Thanks must be given to the chicken and whatever powers that created the chicken and gave her the responsibility of producing that egg because that egg is going to be nourishment for some other creature.
A dollup of cream, and then a vigorous whisking of the egg and cream, blending the life’s work of two females of different species, and poured into a heated, buttered pan.
An old aluminum spatula, given to you by your grandmother when you set up your first apartment is used to tend to the cooking egg. A spatula representing the life’s work of a woman who loved and cared for you. It’s the spatula that keeps the egg from burning. It’s the spatula that will remove the egg from the pan and place it on a plate so that it can be eaten.
And as your grandmother would insist, thanks must be given.
And so, it is.