Texts from Dad’s 30 year old caregiver, John, a mechanic and entrepreneur:

‘Sandy went and found a pot and boiled the already boiled eggs.’

‘Any way, eggs blew up again. He is insistent he makes his own eggs and he says he will stand and wait till they are cooked.’

‘He is very committed to making his breakfast.’

‘What would you like me to do?’


All these years later, for once I can say I know what to do.

My response over the phone:

‘Boil a dozen eggs. Hide the pots. Every morning before he gets up, leave a bowl with two eggs on the stove with a sign below it that reads ‘Boiled eggs’. Don’t talk about it.’


The problem of the eggs has been on the radar for a while, but it came to a head when the nurse arrived to Dad’s house with smoke billowing out the kitchen from eggs boiled to dehydration and exploded on the stove. The pot didn’t make it.

Dad was in his living room chair, all jokes to greet her. He had no idea anything was going wrong. Afterwards, the nurse called Mum. She was worried. She had to tell someone.

And so it is forever now decreed, Dad is no longer allowed to boil eggs for breakfast.

After boiling eggs every morning for a handful of decades, this too must change.



About Morbid Optimist

My name is Katryna Mary Brooke Ormiston. I am 35 years old and after living in Vancouver for a decade, I am returning home to my 81 year old father’s hobby farm on Vancouver Island to care for him in the final stages of his life. This blog is to document my journey, process my experiences along the way and hopefully share and feel connected to a community beyond the three and a half acres I find myself on. A message in a bottle in the cyber-sea.
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2 Responses to Eggs

  1. Kim says:

    Tell your dad not to worry about that Katie. I’ve been exploding eggs since I was old enough to cook and still going strong!

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