Last night I placed six eggs in a pot and covered the eggs with cold water. I put the pot on the stove and turned it on. I picked up the phone to call my aunt, planning to watch the pot while I spoke with her. The line was busy, so I hung up and left the kitchen to quickly look something up online. My friend Mara had linked to an NPR story about Witold Pilecki, a Polish resistance fighter who arranged to be imprisoned at Auschwitz in 1940 so he could find out and report what was happening there. That led me to do more reading on Jan Karski, a Polish diplomat who tried to convince Roosevelt and Churchill to intervene before all of Poland's Jews were killed. That led me to read about Irena Sendler, a Catholic social worker who was part of Żegota, an underground agency to aid Polish Jews. Her bravery saved 2,500 Jewish children by smuggling them out of the Warsaw Ghetto through the courthouse.
I saw that building while I was in Warsaw in June. My guide's mother was saved that way, although Sendler was not involved in that incident as far as I know. In the picture below, the viewer is facing the courthouse from what would have been the Warsaw Ghetto entrance: There was another entrance on the other side of the building for "Aryan" Poles. Jews could enter through the Ghetto and bribe guards to exit through the Aryan side.
While I was thinking about all this, Husband asked me about my eggs. Of course, I had forgotten all about them. I ran into the kitchen and almost all the water had boiled out of the pot. It had been about 30 minutes since I turned the stove on. Some of light brown shells had dark brown marks. The smell of gas lingered. Another five minutes and the pot would have burned.
I didn't want to throw out six eggs, so I figured that I would try one for breakfast and if it was nasty, then I'd chuck them. Turns out that overcooked hard boiled eggs are more or less hard boiled eggs. Who knew? I ate two.