Eggs

Whew--quite a busy--not to say strenuous--day.  Aline treated me to breakfast at Dockside and...
Now here's a little sidetrack that really has nothing to do with my busy day, but hell, it's my blog and I'm going to ramble in it.
To wit:  I do like Dockside, which actually is--well, dockside.  You can sit at a window table and wave at people in the small boats going down the canal just a few feet away.  I've always like eating on the water, so to speak, and I go there fairly often.  Dockside has great lunches with wonderful, "homemade" (rather, restaurant made, I guess) soups and good sandwiches.
Breakfast, though, is problematic for me.  I happen to like my eggs soft--very soft.  The imp in me likes to gross out the wait person by saying I want them slimy.  Usually, the kitchen will accommodate, but for some reason, Dockside can't seem to do so.  The last two times I was there, I got scrambled, did the "soft" routine, and what I got was just as firm--to me, that translates into "tough"--as my companions' eggs.  This time, I thought I'd pull a fast one and get poached; you can't possibly make poached eggs anything but soft, can you?  Incredibly, the chef managed to close-to-hard-boil part of the eggs and leave only a smidgen runny.
Did I scream, yell, and throw my plate across the room?  Nope; I just sighed and ate the damn things.  (Not like me, I know; I must be coming down with something.)
The busy part?  Once I dropped Aline off at noon, I spent the rest of the day--about four hours, in fact--assembling and separating items to donate to the thrift store and others for the consignment shops we'll visit on Saturday. I set up two folding tables in the garage, one for each, and got them pretty well filled.  Also lugged my incredible hoard of Christmas decorations to at least the same area; I haven't yet decided how to deal with them.
My friend came after work and got everything out of my top cabinets (42" high), which practically filled my counters.  The stuff includes things I haven't seen for years, such as "the good china" my mother got when she was married ninety-five years ago; silver pieces I got for my own wedding in 1958; various servings dishes and fancy champagne glasses I forgot I even had--and so on.
The latter I'll reserve for the consignment shop and as for the rest, I'll simply have to decide what goes where.
I did get a lot accomplished though and, more to the point for me, I'm getting things assembled into workable sections.
So far, so good re California.