Thinking Outside the Egg
Even Steel (the dog) looked perplexed.
It arrived on a tray like a tiny miracle: two perfectly square eggs, sliced and seated politely on toast, next to avocado slivers and a wink of tomato. Not room-service fancy—something better. This wasn’t a hotel. This was home. And the person who made it has Alzheimer’s.
Tim, my Traveler and best friend (husband), brought me breakfast in bed today. But what he really brought me was proof that the mind—though fraying at the edges—still knows how to fold love into daily ritual. Still knows how to surprise me. Still knows how to think outside the egg.
See, Alzheimer’s doesn’t erase creativity. It just… reroutes it. It may scatter a name here, a memory there, but what it leaves behind isn’t a blank slate. It’s a mosaic. And some days, Tim’s mind lays the pieces down just right.
He could’ve given up the kitchen. He could’ve asked me what to make. He could’ve let the day start without a moment like this. But he didn’t.
He engineered a square egg. From a round shell. As if to say: "You think you know how this goes? Watch me."
And so I did. I watched him. I saw what it looks like when someone reclaims a bit of their power—not by pretending everything is fine, but by making breakfast anyway.
That, to me, is what MiM is about. Helping people like Tim stay connected to the parts of themselves that still surprise even them. Helping families find these moments before the system, the diagnosis, or the fear convinces them to stop looking.
We are all more than the sum of our symptoms.
Today, my best friend made me breakfast. And it reminded me why we built MiM: to help others find these square-egg mornings. Messy. Intentional. Perfectly offbeat.
Because when you think outside the egg, you realize something beautiful:
You don’t need things to go back to the way they were.
You just need them to matter.