Last week a friend sent me something titled Pass The Biscuits and it immediately took me back to my childhood and a story that my mom told me many, many times. It was something I called “Mom’s Burnt (Yes, I know.) Toast Story.”
The setting was the Great Depression years and it seems that my grandmother cooked breakfast one morning and burned the toast. Without the luxury of being able to throw the offending toast away, my grandmother simply put it on the table with the rest of the meal.
According to Mom, my grandfather picked up a piece of toast and without thinking he said, “You sure did burn the toast,” and then without missing a beat went on, “Just the way I like it!”
I’ve learned over the years that life is full of imperfect things, imperfect people, and imperfect situations. We weren’t promised perfection, were we? I admit that after 60 years, I still struggle (which is probably why Mom kept telling me the story!), but I’m doing better.
So…please pass me the toast. And yes, every now and then the burned one will do just fine!