Lunch Duty
"Your Aunt Kate and I made cinnamon toast a lot," I said. "It was one of our favorite afterschool snacks. We perfected the evenly toasted bread, the perfect spread of butter that was thick, but not too thick and was applied immediately so that it would melt and make a good surface for the cinnamon sugar."
I moved quickly as I buttered the four slices of bread on the platter. Mary put four more in the toaster. Anna liberally sprinkled the cinnamon sugar over the buttered toast and it quickly melted, confirming that we had made it all correctly. Perfectly made cinnamon toast insures that the butter and sugar will become one and you don't have to worry about the topping falling off while you eat your toast. Except that some always does - too much topping in one area, or not enough butter in another. Even after years of cinnamon toast making, I accept that there will be some fallout. And of course being liberal with the sugar topping, to make sure that you get it all the way to the edge, means that some will fall on the counter and the floor.
"That used to make your Poppy crazy," I said. "He insisted that he could feel the sugar crunching on the floor under his shoes and that it was all over the counter whenever we made cinnamon sugar toast."
I can feel the moment. Kate and I sitting in the tv room off of the kitchen with our cinnamon toast watching Quincy reruns in the late afternoon. We would be oblivious until the point that dad entered the kitchen and then we would look at one another while we listened to dad in the kitchen knowing that we hadn't cleaned up from making our snack.
"Can you imagine Poppy supervising lunch at middle school?" Mary said mischeviously.
Anna snorted.
"Stop eating your salad with your fingers...get your feet off the table...did anyone wipe this table off?...chew your food before you swallow...don't put ketchup in your milk..." Mary said in her best Poppy imitation.
Anna laughed out loud and sprayed cinnamon sugar out of her mouth all over the table and floor.
We sat in stunned silence for a minute. And then we all laughed.
I moved quickly as I buttered the four slices of bread on the platter. Mary put four more in the toaster. Anna liberally sprinkled the cinnamon sugar over the buttered toast and it quickly melted, confirming that we had made it all correctly. Perfectly made cinnamon toast insures that the butter and sugar will become one and you don't have to worry about the topping falling off while you eat your toast. Except that some always does - too much topping in one area, or not enough butter in another. Even after years of cinnamon toast making, I accept that there will be some fallout. And of course being liberal with the sugar topping, to make sure that you get it all the way to the edge, means that some will fall on the counter and the floor.
"That used to make your Poppy crazy," I said. "He insisted that he could feel the sugar crunching on the floor under his shoes and that it was all over the counter whenever we made cinnamon sugar toast."
I can feel the moment. Kate and I sitting in the tv room off of the kitchen with our cinnamon toast watching Quincy reruns in the late afternoon. We would be oblivious until the point that dad entered the kitchen and then we would look at one another while we listened to dad in the kitchen knowing that we hadn't cleaned up from making our snack.
"Can you imagine Poppy supervising lunch at middle school?" Mary said mischeviously.
Anna snorted.
"Stop eating your salad with your fingers...get your feet off the table...did anyone wipe this table off?...chew your food before you swallow...don't put ketchup in your milk..." Mary said in her best Poppy imitation.
Anna laughed out loud and sprayed cinnamon sugar out of her mouth all over the table and floor.
We sat in stunned silence for a minute. And then we all laughed.
posted by Lea at 6:27 AM
1 Comments:
Let me imagine what happened next. All three of you (Lea, Anna, and Mary) got up from the table, wearing several layers of clothes for added warmth and yet draped in a blanket, gracefully swept off to the four corners of the house carrying those little bits of sugar.
Bad Dad
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