Recently, I wrote a status on Facebook. "Buy the shoes" was the sentiment from the picture. I added: "I'm not eating burnt toast, anymore" or words to that effect. On reflection, I think I'd like to say more.
When I was little, I ate toast all. the. time. Now that I am older, and heavier, toast is a celebration. It's a carb, carefully and judiciously smeared with the tiniest schmear of light butter and savored quietly and slowly with my coffee. It's often cold long before I'm done, but I dip it into my coffee. BTW, people are discovering or have discovered the delight of a small amount of butter in coffee. While you may wince, don't knock it, til you have tried it. What makes me giggle, is that my daddy did this 50 some years ago. That man was constantly ahead of his time. Bless him.
Back to toast. It's so easy, in the early years to eat burnt toast: you're learning to make toast, you are 6 years old. It goes too long and comes out deep brown. You stare at it, and someone says, "Oh, it's not too bad. Just scrape it off in the sink, like this." And you do, and you eat it.
Flash forward several years and you're a teen. It's easy to burn toast. Your distracted and hurried and you burn the toast. Who wants to eat burnt toast? You wastefully throw it away, and start over.
Several more years pass, you are a mama. The children want toast and you carefully prepare it. Just the right shade of light tan, carefully buttered, jelly added. It looks delicious, you hand it to one of your babies and you start a piece toasting for you. Then, life happens. The door bell or the cell phone rings, someone is hollering, someone needs a diaper changes, someone needs a bath and someone (possibly you, yourself) need a time out. By the time you get back...it's burnt and cold. And, you shrug and when no one is looking, you eat it. You are hungry and tired, and don't want to try anymore.
These three approaches are natural and I think, both can be wrong. Who says that only others are worthy of perfect toast? And why must I either scrape it til it's "right" or resignedly consume it because I'm too tired to try anymore.
Terri Hatcher wrote about it here: A burnt toast book
Here's the point:
I will prepare toast carefully because I am worth it.
The toast, frankly, is worth it. (Someone had to knead the bread, or push the button from a distance of several yards away to have a machine knead the bread)
And if I give it away, the effort is worth it.
And if I eat it all my dangownself, I am worth it.
Now, I'm looking at the corner of the counter. My toaster and my destiny awaits.
When I was little, I ate toast all. the. time. Now that I am older, and heavier, toast is a celebration. It's a carb, carefully and judiciously smeared with the tiniest schmear of light butter and savored quietly and slowly with my coffee. It's often cold long before I'm done, but I dip it into my coffee. BTW, people are discovering or have discovered the delight of a small amount of butter in coffee. While you may wince, don't knock it, til you have tried it. What makes me giggle, is that my daddy did this 50 some years ago. That man was constantly ahead of his time. Bless him.
Back to toast. It's so easy, in the early years to eat burnt toast: you're learning to make toast, you are 6 years old. It goes too long and comes out deep brown. You stare at it, and someone says, "Oh, it's not too bad. Just scrape it off in the sink, like this." And you do, and you eat it.
Flash forward several years and you're a teen. It's easy to burn toast. Your distracted and hurried and you burn the toast. Who wants to eat burnt toast? You wastefully throw it away, and start over.
Several more years pass, you are a mama. The children want toast and you carefully prepare it. Just the right shade of light tan, carefully buttered, jelly added. It looks delicious, you hand it to one of your babies and you start a piece toasting for you. Then, life happens. The door bell or the cell phone rings, someone is hollering, someone needs a diaper changes, someone needs a bath and someone (possibly you, yourself) need a time out. By the time you get back...it's burnt and cold. And, you shrug and when no one is looking, you eat it. You are hungry and tired, and don't want to try anymore.
These three approaches are natural and I think, both can be wrong. Who says that only others are worthy of perfect toast? And why must I either scrape it til it's "right" or resignedly consume it because I'm too tired to try anymore.
Terri Hatcher wrote about it here: A burnt toast book
Here's the point:
I will prepare toast carefully because I am worth it.
The toast, frankly, is worth it. (Someone had to knead the bread, or push the button from a distance of several yards away to have a machine knead the bread)
And if I give it away, the effort is worth it.
And if I eat it all my dangownself, I am worth it.
Now, I'm looking at the corner of the counter. My toaster and my destiny awaits.
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