Written by: Phyllis Ann Doros
Copyright � Feb 18, 1957
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Cinnamon Toast

Jim + Friends -1953

       Our five year old son, Jim, was hungry!  The fact that

this empty sensation occurred less than an hour after he finished

lunch, did not alter his discovery in the slightest.

       He stood in the center of the kitchen with one thought

in mind:  What could he find to eat?

       He looked at the refrigerator, then the stove, then the

cupboard where the crackers are kept.  His searching blue eyes

glowed with interest as they rested on the dry cereal, but

he soon convinced himself that a bowl or even a handful of

cereal was not a fitting desert for lunch.  Still undecided,

he noticed the toaster.  With deliberate emphasis, he closed

the door on the cereal.  He knew just the snack to carry him

through �til dinner!

       He stood on tiptoes to plug in the toaster.  Then he

hurried to the bread box returning with an entire loaf of

fresh bread.  Using hands, which would never pass a cleanliness

inspection, he placed a slice of bread in the toaster, pushed

down the lever and leaned against the drain board watching the

element begin to heat.  He licked his lips as the smell of

warm toast filled the kitchen.

       Then he remembered that the automatic part of our toaster

is out of commission.  He shoved his left hand into an oven

mitt, which covered his arm almost to the elbow, giving more

than enough protection for him to hold the toaster fairly

still as he used his right hand and all the strength he could

muster to push up the lever.  At last, the toast came in sight!

The look of anticipation, which had brightened his face,

turned to dismay, for the toast was badly scorched.

       There was only one thing to do...  He took a table knife

and the toast to the sink, where he proceeded to scrape the

burnt crumbs into the recently scoured enamel.  He scratched

and he scraped and he rubbed, while dreaming of how good

it would taste after it was ready. Suddenly he straightened,

held the toast up to the window and discovered he could see

clear through it.  All that remained of his eagerly awaited

snack was the crust.  He had scraped the entire center of the

toast down the drain.

       This time, he was prepared and the second piece of toast

was a perfect golden brown.  He carried the butter dish to the

drain board, started to butter the toast and was immediately

faced with another obstacle.  The dish was empty! From the

refrigerator he brought a new cube, unwrapped it and finally

managed to get a big chunk of it to stay on the knife.  Of course,

by this time the toast had cooled, so spreading it became an

added problem.  After a valiant effort, the butter remained

in a cold, uneven lump right in the middle of the toast.

       It would take more than these slight delays to stop Jim!

With greasy hands, he shoved his light, straight hair away

from his forehead.  As an afterthought, he wiped both of his

hands on his clean jeans using a quick, overall motion which

forced his hair to fall back into his eyes.

       After a short search, he found the jar filled with a

cinnamon and sugar mixture, placed his thoroughly handled

piece of toast on a saucer and started to sprinkle the contents

of the jar onto the toast.  The drain board changed from it�s

normally cream color to a spotted brown making it evident

that very little of the mixture was actually landing on the

target.  With a few more vigorous shakes, Jim had to face still

another sad fact.  The jar was now empty.

       Using calm reasoning, he turned the toast upside down

and rubbed it in the saucer.  But this was not the solution to

his problem, for when he removed the toast, most of the cinnamon-

sugar mixture remained on the saucer.  He paused to consider

the possibilities, then picked up the saucer and holding the

toast directly in front of him so any loose grains would fall

to the floor, he poured the mixture from the saucer onto the

toast.

       Filled with a sense of satisfaction, Jim took a bite of

his masterpiece.  He chewed it thoughtfully as he wiped the

back of his buttered hand over his mouth, disturbing the pattern

of crumbs, sugar and cinnamon, that had formed there.  Then

he looked up at me wearing an expression of absolute

accomplishment and said proudly:

       "Oh boy, I sure do make good cinnamon toast, don�t I?�

Jim + Dixie -1970


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