I have a toaster.
It toasts one side of each slice, then proffers a half-hearted “pop.”
I flip the bread. Press the lever again.
It sinks down with a sigh,
graciously crisping the second side.
If I bought a new toaster–
Titanium jaws! Melt-proof nobs!
Heat-intensity beams, with twelve different forcefields!
–I could save myself 42 seconds, each morning.
Or so my boyfriend points out, amidst exasperated jostlings of jam.
Over the arc of a year,
That’s 15,330 seconds I could spend BETTERING MYSELF!
Tightening my buns!
Organizing receipts!
Pre-soaking soiled garments!
Mastering the art of something-or-other!
I’d rather not, thanks.
I like my lo-fi toaster,
and the precious waste of time
it commemorates in the crumb-catcher
every morning, at nine.
Other lo-fi luxuries that I like:
kissing (which, so far as I can tell, has never been criticized for its severe ‘inefficiency’)
books (without high-contrast E-Ink displays)
bicycles (with zing-zing bells, to warn oncoming traffic)
roasted rosemary potatoes, silver birch paper
moving my limbs in a walk-along motion
holding hands, holding rails
holding still, holding on.
My toaster was a gift from my mother.
(She’s quite well, and thank you.)
But that’s not why I love it.
(No offense, mother.)
I love the fact that it hasn’t cottoned on
to the fact that it’s so woefully ill-equipped
to handle the singular task it’s been given in life.
And it just doesn’t mind in the slightest.
It summons the strength to do what it can,
and lets the Great Hand of Fate flip the bits that it must.
There’s a lesson, in that.
Or maybe just breakfast.
* * *
Fanciful toast via midale maeda, from the 2006 DELFTS toast pan collection. Now you know.
* * *
Hey-o! New mailing list magic.
What better closure to a poem about lo-fi living than a call-to-action to join my new & improved
digital mailing list! (Irony at its finest!)
If you’ve been receiving my missives in your inbox, good for you, chippie.
But pretty soon, you won’t–unless you re-subscribe, just below. Do it! Do it!
Then log off for the day & write a poem about your laundry bin, or something.
You’ll feel really terrific, and your laundry bin will turn beet-red from blushing.
Ooh. I also love bikes :)
My favorite-favorite lo-fi luxury: making tea. I saw this fancy-pants tea maker that automates everything (you set a timer as to when to start, set the temperature, and fill the steeper with tea leaves; it heats the water to the appropriate temperature for your tea, steeps the leaves and removes them). And you know, sure, I can see how it would be nice to have a hot pot of tea waiting for me when I get up in the morning. I can dig it. But…I sooo love my entire ritual of heating the water, scooping out the tea leaves, setting the timer after pouring the water, taking out the steeper by hand when the timer goes off. (Even though it’s hot, or sometimes – like today – it gets stuck in the mug!) It’s a part of my morning & I wouldn’t change it for the world.
sigh. Loved – I have a toaster. :-) Thanks.
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Ciao Alexandra!
Love your groovy domestic poetry. I here ya…
I am completely allergic to kitchen gadgets. I have a blender. And a 2 slice toaster. And I cook almost every night for my family and quite often throw dinner parties for more people than can comfortably fit in my house.
Getting sucked into gadgets is useless. My advice: buy the sexiest cook books that you can find (not online- in the store so you can look inside) and you will be inspired into domestic goddestry lickety-split. I don’t think that the $300 kitchen-aid mixer loitering on your counter has that same effect.
That’s my two cents. xxx Bianca
p.s. Love your site. All the best to you!