I Did It On Purpose.

Make no mistake about it. Our old toaster oven was beyond ever being completely clean again, and every time it was used, it smoked and smelled up the house.

The last time it was used I said, "Well, say goodbye. That's the last time that toaster is ever going to be used in this house again."

He raised his eyebrows like, "Oh sure."

  
When the greasy beast cooled down, the toaster, that is, I picked it up and marched it out to the dump pile. It was a small appliance fire waiting to happen anyway. When I came back in, he shot me this look like he couldn't believe what I just did.

Maybe I made a mistake because I immediately desired a crunchy piece of toast smothered in melted butter.

The next weekend we went to every box store in North County looking for a replacement.

  
Finally I saw it -- the toaster of my dreams. It took me back to the days of my childhood. Not a toaster oven, but a glorious chrome number with settings for bagels and pop tarts, and a crumb tray. An old-fashioned toaster that pops up the toast.

I brought it home and became a toast mistress.

At first, it was set half way between the darkest and the lightest setting, but I like toast to be a medium brown, so I upped the setting. After about a week of wondering, I finally said out loud, "What is going on?" It took me three cycles to get the English muffins the proper shade of tan. I complained vigorously. It goes good with morning coffee.

"It worked fine at the beginning," I said. "Now it's like it has already burnt out."

I was ready to nominate it to the POG (piece of garbage) Hall of Fame.

"Hey, now," he said calmly. "Be nice to your beautiful chrome toaster."

I grumbled and gave it a hard look. And that's when I noticed. I turned the setting to the lightest not the darkest. Oops.

  
I tell you all this because I want you to know I am capable of making a mistake now and then. Perhaps it's even a mistake telling you so, but because I make them every so often, I'll share another.

We just had a partial solar eclipse on June 10. For the life of me, I thought it was supposed to be on June 9, a Sunday. The height of the eclipse was to be in the evening, around 6 p.m. Around that time, I kept on asking him every five minutes or so, "Honey, does it look any dimmer to you?"

  
And boy, after a while, it was pretty clear who was looking dimmer.

  
Say goodnight, Gracie.

But that's OK. By the next day I was all ready for the moon to get in the way of the sun. And when the illumination started to drop and that eerie color was cast across our California landscape, I began to wonder if the sun would ever return.

It's just an eclipse, I told myself. But what if Mr. Sol didn't come back?

Well, my friends, we would be toast, but I was glad to be mistaken again.

{This was published in June 2002.}