On Doing Things Right

In moments of solitude, when my feet are warm and my stomach is empty, when I have foresworn coffee and kept my temper and the cats have been polite and the children amiable, I allow myself to slip into a quiet reverie about the nature of things.

Out of the moment's tableau and into the interior, my appearance changes; it goes down to essences, to the image behind my face, nameless, wordless, slow-moving, reverent, quiet, clear.

There is a landscape of low rolling hills all around me, with ripe grasses and a few bushes before a tree line in the distance. It is dusky, or dawn--an in-between light--like the sun slanting under dark clouds. I can see myself walking. There are no other people. I am a pilgrim here.

My clothing is rough, monkish, with a hood and a belt, dark colored and plain. On my feet are the sensible oxfords of my childhood.

I have drawn this figure countless times in my notebook. The neutral stare, the endless, even pace, the subtle path, the serious tone, undercurrents of light~ my shoes. I am the agent for this being. Our activities are connected. Our journeys are one journey.

Keeping things in order, practicing clean, accurate speech, making worthwhile gestures, commencing toward wisdom--these are the objectives of this visit. Be nice. Carry on. I am reminded because I do forget.

If I am lucky, at this point I will catch a nap and wake up refreshed. If I am not lucky, I will cruise out and find piles , literally, of unruly work and children clamoring for attention. Reality strikes like a gong.

When I was in college, my roommate, for a time, was a robust and determined business major who was destined to marry and become widowed young. She walked with her toes pointed out and our friends found one another shocking and abhorrent.

I liked her absoluteness; it was fascinating and alarming in one so young. She kept our finances in order with statements such as, "Let's be petty."

Among the many things I learned from her was the way--the only way--to make Old Fashioned Cinnamon Toast. I think of her when I make it properly, when my improvisations get me into trouble, when I venture into the morass of my checkbook, when my little visions have made me somehow seem impractical. She is always grinning

So quit messing around. Toast slices of bread on one side only, using a preheated broiler or small toaster oven.

While you are waiting, using a fork and keeping your toes pointed out, mix together:

1/4 C. sugar

1/2 tsp. cinnamon

Spread the untoasted side of the bread very gently with soft butter and sprinkle it with the sugar mix. Let your conscience be your guide here.

Return this assemblage to the broiler and watch while it begins to bubble and form wonderful a sweet crust. Allow to cool slightly before eating.

For a variation, which I trust is forgivable, try a shake of cardamom with the cinnamon.

There are other methods, of course, but I concede to this one for the sake of sentiment. Also because it is simple and sublime. It is a fixed point, a haven.