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Peace Parade and Double Yolk Eggs

Friday evening, a little after five, I strolled out of the office, feeling blessed by the weekend. As I neared Railroad, I looked across the street at some noise and saw a mini parade of people walking down the sidewalk in the other direction. There were young and elderly, someone bopping bongos, someone strumming a guitar and singing with a heartfelt, off-key, strained voice. They were holding up signs that said things like "You can't stop violence with violence" and (my favorite) "God Bless the World." Yeah. I smiled. My legs insisted on taking me home, though, so I didn't cross the street and turn around to join them.


My current office mate, Kris, is a pretty nice guy. I admit, at first, I wasn't keen on losing Peter as my office buddy, but Kris is cool. Anyway, he's a self-proclaimed "weekend farmer," which means that when his family can't eat all the food they produce, I get free food (which goes a long way toward endearing me toward him). They've got quite a few chickens, so I took some eggs home a couple of weeks ago. The other night I was making an omelette, cracked and egg in, and was shocked to see a double yolk. I've never had an egg like that before. I was a little bemused. Cracked the next egg, double yolk again! Now I was starting to get weirded out. All the other eggs from this batch had been normal-- had I somehow stumbled onto the mutant chicken's eggs or something?

Random www research on double-yolk folklore:

Well, at least those eggs made for a good omelette.

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