September 21, 2009

A Dozen Large, Brown

'A dozen large, brown.' he says. I give him change, so the egg people don't have to make change, even though they've got a pile of quarters sitting on their table. Along with the piles of quarters are the stacks of eggs. Extra large, double yolk, free range, brown and white.

Our last stop before leaving the farmers market, we take the carton, secured with a green rubber band and make our way out of the chill dim into the warm lit.

Weighed down by reusable bags filled with bread, milk and vegetables, my left shoulder is starting to feel it. We have to stop, the red hand is flashing. No cars, we cross with caution. We look down, careful not to step on broken glass or horse manure. The city stables housing the police horses are just a jump away from the market.

The market was full today, and we got there a little later than we like so we had to park the car a ways down the street. Electronically metered, we've never seen a meter maid on Sunday. Most times we take our chances.

They're building a homeless shelter directly across the street. There's also a building, refurbished, turned into a Holiday Inn Express. While the location is nice, in that it's right downtown, the surroundings still haven't met their full potential. Things are changing, though. It's just going to take time.

The rest of the day goes by Sunday script. Coffee, dinner at 2:00, relax (sometimes that means mid-afternoon nap) and 'What's for dinner?'. Sunday always has a dinner number two. The urge usually hits us at around 7:00.

Leftover pizza, toasted to imperfection in the toaster oven fills the void. Meanwhile hard-boiled eggs are resting. I had in mind to make a hard-boiled egg sandwich for our Monday lunch. Sliced egg on baguette with thin slices of fresh cows milk cheese, salt, pepper, a nice dose of olive oil and green leaf lettuce for crunch.

Oh, if only I could toast this.

Monday morning arrives. Sitting in my stall at the giant cubicle farm, the thermometer on my desk is telling me it's around 82° in the office. I swear they're pumping hot air through the vents. Only about 1 1/2 hours until lunch. Looking forward to the sandwich, I will warn my co-workers that I've brought in egg, which will perfume the area once I peel back the foil.

Tonight we'll be having red sauce. A huge pot was made on Saturday. Maybe we'll make it pink, a little cream, some shrimp. Two more eggs lay in wait in the fridge. Will they vie for seconds when dinner rolls around or make it to another day, perhaps Tuesday lunch?


  1. Yum, that food sounds delicious tracy! And we never pay the meter at the farmers market either! I think I heard a long time ago that they don't ticket on market sundays. And its funny (I think) that every time I see someone about to pay into the machine, I jump at them and say stop! they don't check today! (and then some people start to plead with me saying...but it says 'blah blah..' and then I get mad for trying to be nice...)

  2. I'm glad we're not the only ones! I always fear that in some way I'll jinx us by pleading with someone to not pay the meters. That we'll come back to the car only to find a ticket. We try not to pay in Fells Point or anywhere really. I'm sure it will catch up with some day. :)

  3. I'm so glad I came over here and saw this discussion of paying the meters on market sundays. We usually try to get to the market early enough to park over by City Hall, but sometimes that just doesn't work out.

    I feel like it's a point of pride as a city resident to find a spot where you don't have to pay a meter!

  4. I agree. Usually those spots aren't that far away from the destination. Also, a little walking never hurt anyone.


Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.