Getting Chicken Eggs From a Neighbor - Aspen Real Life
Getting Chicken Eggs From a Neighbor

Getting Chicken Eggs From a Neighbor

[su_heading size=”18″]Getting Chicken Eggs From a Neighbor [/su_heading]

Tonight at dinner I asked my family to take note that I was actually wearing a short sleeved shirt without a sweater on. It probably was the first time since the last warm day in the Fall that I was not wearing my old three ply cashmere sweater and my hat and gloves at the dinner table. My boys, including Wade, looked at me as if I were crazy, shook their heads and continued their conversation about 360’s, ramps, jumps and music.

The head shaking by Wade is a very common reaction to me, his wife, and now the boys are following suit. Yesterday morning I woke him up to tell him that I had to run out to get eggs to finish making the pancakes. I rattled off the list of things that needed to get done before my return, none of which registered, and ran out in my pajamas to get some hand picked eggs from our neighbors. Raw milk and fresh eggs all in our backyard, what more could one ask for.

I entered the door to the breezeway of the house, which did not quite fit with the directions I received from the sleepy man on the phone but it was early morning and my mind was not yet fully awake. When I continued on into the garage and saw that there was no fridge I knew that I had indeed just entered the wrong house. I scared myself when I saw my reflection in the garage window. My hair was breaking out of the big pile I had lumped on top of my head and I looked like some insane mother on the make, in her pajamas. It was like a bizarre Pink Panther film.

I was trapped, there was no other way out.  The owner was now standing on the other side of the breezeway door, in her bathrobe, feeding her two dogs. Bent over in a tip toe hunch I tried to quietly open the door and make a run for it. I was lucky that the dogs were fluffy, sweet Australian Shepherds and instead of tearing me to shreds they ran up to me and poked their noses into my crotch. If I had a choice I would certainly choose the latter. Recognizing the woman, I breathed a sigh of relief and launched into my explanation of why I was in her house unannounced. She feigned normalcy at this strange story and directed me to the correct house. I left in a fit of giggles and apologies. I drove up the correct driveway and read the dog warning sign, “Our dogs can reach that fence in five seconds, can you?” I could tell that this was not going to be a great day. I burst into our kitchen door and told Wade the story. He shook his head once again and made some sort of comment like, “if you would stop writing and pay more attention to the tasks at hand, you might not need to create such lasting impressions on our new neighbors”.

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