TOAST

In which yet another oddity of the writing life rears its delicious head

This morning I dropped the toaster on my head.

I know.

But the toaster is in an upper cabinet, partly because I don’t like stuff on my counters, and partly because it’s supposed to be a disincentive to eat toast. As a counter (see what I did there?) to clutter it’s perfectly effective, but it does absolutely nothing to curb my toast consumption, because toast is delicious, and also irresistible. And when I’m writing a book I can either write the book or eat sensibly, but, apparently, not both. So, the aroma of toast frequently fills the house these days.

I usually like my toast with salted Irish butter, and if no one is looking, I dunk it in my coffee. Very occasionally I will add a french brand of cherry preserves. Sometimes I have toast with peanut butter. The dogs are big fans of peanut butter toast, but are also willing to share the other variations. This morning my husband didn’t finish his breakfast before heading to the airport, and they had toast with butter and egg. They licked their bowls very carefully.

Also, related to the toast consumption is the search for the right bread. There is a brand of whole grain bread that is the perfect combination of actual chewy whole grains and softness-without-being-mushy. It is both ridiculously expensive and almost impossible to find. It didn’t used to be hard to find. I have looked online to try to discover the mystery of the natural wheat bread shortage, and I think maybe the factory is re-tooling or something. But the other varieties of their bread are always on the shelf. This makes me anxious that they may discontinue making my favorite bread altogether. I make home made dog food, I cannot take up bread making, too.

The quest for this bread frequently leads me to as many as three stores at a time, and when I find it I am tempted to hoard, but I limit myself to two loaves at a time, one for the freezer. Since there are never more than six loaves on the shelf, and it’s frequently unavailable, I have accumulated four loaves in the freezer. This kind of yearning is an indication to me of where I am in the book-writing process, but also a form of minor insanity, which is an indication to me of where I am in the book-writing process. I think my brain does this so I can focus on another intense, but low-stakes project. Or something. Anyway, a freezer with four loaves in it probably qualifies as hoarding. But only when I am desperate will I take the last loaf on the shelf. In my mind it’s what passes for being public-spirited.

I am now fully apprised of the days on which the bread truck delivers to each store, and I try to get to the store that afternoon. I also know which store sells out first, and which locates the bread in a dark corner, and therefore more often has a loaf when no one else does.

So. I need to finish this *(&^%% novel before I completely lose my mind—if I haven’t already.

Luckily it isn’t a heavy toaster, but it was not a great way to begin the morning. Still, toast is a reasonable consolation for most of life’s little difficulties.

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Eli as sea monster.