The Omelet

I have been overcooking scrambled eggs for as long as I can remember.  I am always paranoid that they're undercooked, and despite enjoying an egg over-easy every once in a great while, undercooked scrambled eggs really freak me out.

The last full day of Mima (Ben's mom's) visit, however, I woke up and had the thought Today is a good omelet day.  Let me be clear.  I have never made a successful omelet before, so I have no idea what prompted this sudden assurance that I would be able to on Thursday.  But, it worked!

Okay - maybe I know.

A spatula that looks like a scimitar!

It's made by the brand Orca, but I couldn't find a picture of it online.  My mom bought if for me from the Wire Whisk in Appleton, a kitchen-gadgety store.  It's made of flexible plastic and is GREAT for flipping Swedish Pancakes and apparently really helpful when making omelets.

So, make sure there's enough butter or oil so that the eggs won't stick to the pan.

As the eggs heat, skim around the sides with the scimitar spatula.  This helps the omelet get ready to flip.

When the eggs start to bubble and almost all of the liquidy part of the eggs on the top is gone, remove pan from heat and shake it around a bit.  If you've greased the pan enough, the omelet should slide around.

Then...confidence, Atreyu.  Flip it!

It's scary, I know!  Or, you could slide the omelet onto a plate and then flip the plate over onto the skillet.  Or try with the spatula.  But flipping it is fun (here I am flipping a Swedish pancake on New Year's Day...yes, in pajamas).

Once flipped, add ham or cheese or whatever to one side, then fold the other side over.  Ta-Da!  You're an omelet chef.

Blessed to have a Visitor

It's Friday afternoon.  The house seems rather quiet after taking Mima (the name our oldest niece, Emily gave Carol, my mother-in-law, several years ago) to the airport this morning.

Having visitors while living in Spain is so great.  We get to share our lives with people: show them around the neighborhood, introduce them to Spanish food (well...the few Spanish foods that we eat), take them to some cool parts of Madrid, and introduce them to our small group of friends here.  We do life together.  And we usually spend a lot of time playing games together, too.  (Unfortunately, we have concluded after this visit that Bohnanza (the Bean Game) requires a minimum of 4 players to be interesting.)  Ben and I even got to go on a date for the first time since...oh boy...when did Harry Potter 7 part 2 come to theaters in Madrid?

The tough thing about visitors is that the visit inevitably ends.  It doesn't matter how long or short the time period; at some point, it's over.  Life goes back to normal within a few days, but that first day (or days) after they leave, things are in limbo.  The airport always does this to me.  I'm so close to home when I'm there, waiting for Mima while she checks in near a sign that says New York on it.  I could get on plane and within hours could cross an entire ocean and re-enter the country that I know, the culture that I understand through and through, the language that I can articulate freely.  I could hug the family members that I love and enjoy the deliciousness of Chipotle (okay, burritos are not really THAT important).

I have to be careful sometimes when I think about life in the United States.  If I lived there, I would still have days when I wanted to pull my hair out because of Andy's tantrums.  Well, actually he pulls my hair out, so I'll have to find a new metaphor for frustration.  That's been one of the advantages of accidentally getting my hair cut really short several weeks ago - there's less for him to grab onto!  I digress.  If I lived in the US, I'd still have lonely moments, moments when I couldn't just go hang out with friends and family, moments when I'd be overwhelmed with cooking or laundry.  Moments when I'd feel disconnected with the Lord.  I'd miss taking ballet for 5 hours a week, because that's just not realistic when you have a toddler.  I'd still be stressing about enrolling Andy in pre-school or not in the fall.

So, living overseas doesn't really change a lot of my day to day wear-me-out factors.  But, saying goodbye to someone at the airport without really knowing when you'll see them face to face (not on Skype, but thank you, Lord, for Skype) again is tough.  It's the other side of having visitors.  It's great to have them, but it's always a short-term thing.  Granted, in our little apartment, I might kick out even the best visitor after a certain point.

Longing for reunion, for no more goodbyes is a sign that we long for eternity with the Lord.  I find comfort in knowing that one day that reunion will take place forever.  No more airport goodbyes.  Or a lot of other much more painful goodbyes where Skype can't reach the person you love.  Those goodbyes will come one day, regardless if I live in Spain or the US.  The good news...the ONLY news I have to hold onto in those sad moments is that the Lord Jesus will return.  He longs to return.  Do I dare say that he longs to be united with us as much as he longed to be reunited with the Father while he was on Earth?  That's a very powerful thought.

So, in light of that, I'm trying to look at having visitors as a little taste of that reunion.  The goodbye will come, certainly, but the blessing of a visitor will outweigh the bitterness of that goodbye...until all is overshadowed (in a good sense) by the ultimate reunion at the Lord's return.