by Cary Fyfe

Hot.Buttered.Toast. I am sorry, I am, if this causes anyone to run like a wild animal to a pantry that has no — NO — bread in it. But this is where my mind is, because of Mercy Watson, and the Earth.

No, this is not a Re-Boot-induced delirium, and it will make sense — in a very odd way — in just a moment. But first, I will share a verbal and pictorial journal of my Thursday. So sit back, grab your green smoothie, and read on…

Breakfast: grass-fed sausages and a green smoothie

My morning begins with me whistling a tune and frying up my grass-fed sausages, little organic pigs and turkeys that got to play freely with their friends before they were…omigosh, I can’t think about that. So while little bluebirds land on my shoulder, I add my green smoothie to the picture, because the sausages look very sad and lonely on that plate. Doesn’t my smoothie look so cute in that little mason jar?? This healthy food is so pretty, and I do feel good! Really, the best part of this for me is that my very self is taking care of, well, my very self. That does feel good, and might be just enough. BUT, while I’m on this track to watch what I put in my body, I have become aware of something not-so-pretty: I like to snack. Fine, right? Would be, but I like to comfort-snack. Quite a revelation, and why I didn’t know it before is anybody’s guess.

After my dreamy breakfast, and feeling pretty smug about how “clean” I feel, (and already thinking about what I’m going to eat next), I head off to see my first student, a darling, brown-eyed seven year-old boy. My bluebirds and I work merrily with my student, and after he does his work, I get to read out loud to him, from a book called Mercy Watson. And — warning — change of tone…MERCY WATSON BE DAMNED. The bluebirds have flown, and dark clouds gather. Freakin’ Mercy is a happily rotund pink pig, and she LOVES — sorry again — Hot Buttered Toast. My favorite comfort snack.There is, I am not joking at all, a picture of hot buttered toast on EVERY page of that blasted book.

Mercy Watson and her hot buttered toast!

Oh.My.Gosh. Seriously, it’s all I can think about now! And as I’m reading, I’m thankful I’m just reading and not having to assess or teach or anything that requires my brain to think of something other than hot buttered toast! Somehow, I make it through the session with my dignity intact, and I move on to meet my next student, a high schooler. We are studying World Cultures, and I will be safe there.

First question on the practice test is about — really, people?? — the Earth’s CRUST. So Mercy Watson be damned again, not only am I thinking about hot buttered toast, but it’s WHITE BREAD toast! That was in my lunch every day when I was a kid! That is the only “crust” that I see! I lunge across the table in a panic, aggressively grab my cranberry water, and when I see my student’s look of concern (or is it terror?), I regroup, smile, and sip that nectar like the true lady that I am. We’re back on track, and I’m going to float away to King Cranberry’s Castle, where there is no candy…or toast.

Thankfully, I make it through the rest of the day with lots of nuts and safe crunchy things that are in the book of sanctioned treats, but now — should not have agreed to write about this particular day — I am hosting my Book Club tonight. No problem, I tell myself, they’ll eat clean and won’t think a thing about it. And then the Door of Doom slams again, because these women, they love their, we love our — I’m not going to write what we love, because I’ve already tortured you with hot buttered toast. Y’all know what it is I’m talking about, don’t you? Do not run to your refrigerator, don’t do it!!

At the risk of being ejected from this Reboot, I will write one more little tidbit, about whether or not I succumbed to, um, a glass of what my Book Club pals enjoyed. I did not partake (well, I did take a sip…really, it was just a sip, ask Leslie Yzaguirre, fellow iGniter, she was there). And now I feel really, really good– not because I am denying myself treats that I love, no…that isn’t what this is about. I am, rather, taking sweet care of my body, because it houses my little spirit that has been so kind to me all these years…and I am so happy to now know, that is quite enough.