The excavators found a toaster.
(Perhaps that should be said more dramatically.)
The excavators found a toaster!
But … well, the first sentence is more apt, for it is an ordinary toaster.
It’s quite a nice toaster, really. It makes toast. It sits there, waiting for you to make it make toast. It’s not grand. It’s not got swept-back wings or Cadillac fins. It’s not got flashing lights or Internet access. But …
Toasters are great because they do one thing. You’re expecting me to say, “and they do that one thing very well,” but that isn’t always the case. They’re temperamental. They’re truculent. They don’t like bagels. They really want you to stick a metal fork in them to get that stuck bread out so they can electrocute you.
You’re expecting me to say, “But you always know where you stand with a toaster.” But you don’t. Don’t base your life’s philosophy on a toaster.
The toaster isn’t a metaphor for anything. It’s a toaster. But …
Sometimes, when you’re frazzled and out of sorts, there’s nothing for it but to do your laundry. All of it. Vacuum — everywhere. Clean the sink. Clean the shower. Clean the toilet. Wash all your dishes. Take a shower and wash your hair.
Get dressed in the toasty clothes you’ve just taken from the dryer and feel the carpet under your feet, all full and fuzzy from just being vacuumed.
Now: the next morning, make coffee. Make toast. Don’t skimp on the butter and peanut butter. (Use one on top of the other, butter first.)
Now look out your window at the sun shining on your city, your town, your hamlet, your square, your house. Your home. Nothing’s solved; nothing’s settled. But if anything worse happens … well, now you’re ready for it, aren’t you? The carpet’s vacuumed. You’ve got toasty clothes on. Whaddya want, egg in your beer?
Sometimes you just have to reset and start over by cleaning everything.
But … don’t forget to make toast, too. It goes with the coffee.