My local high school is closed until May 7th because of the swine flu. Jon Carroll had a great column on that, and here is another on celebrating what is before us.
Monday, May 4, 2009
A long time ago, my friend Anne Lamott, before she was a famous novelist and spiritual adviser and moderately well-off mother of one, lived on a houseboat in Sausalito Harbor. Actually, she lived on half a houseboat - she was subletting.
As you might imagine, she did not have a lot of room for fancy appliances or, indeed, for any appliances. She had a toaster oven. And so, because she is a resourceful lass, when she wanted to have a social gathering, a brunch, sort of, even for five or six friends - which was maximum capacity, definitely - she had a Festival of Toast.
"Come to my Festival of Toast," she said, as though a Festival of Toast were as common as a wine and cheese reception. She bought various kinds of bread, so that those with different opinions about toast could have their desires fulfilled. I, frankly, was looking for some kind of catch, some bagpiper band and swirls of haggis and "Ha ha, Festival of Toast," but no such event occurred. Our Festival of Toast was a Festival of Toast.
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