It is dangerous when I write these things hours past dinnertime.

Please raise a toast to the soon to be released, unfictionalized memoirs of Laura Ingalls Wilder. (Really!) And a beautiful toast to a good woman and a recollection of the legacy she is passing on.

Hungry for a good laugh at the “boy with the bread” in a tasty morsel of musical parody?

Toasted by your daily grind? Burnout no more.  And stand out when you have the chance.

Soccer players in Scotland are notorious for a terrible appetite, except this team that is in, and is recovery.

Crumbs of wisdom and inspiration for couples.

Glorious crumbling, 25 years ago. (Do you remember where you were when you heard?)

Crave a grave hunt with sweet resolution?

A recipe for relating to the introverted among us.

Mormons aren’t new to holding onto names. BCC’s Cynthia L. offers eloquent words to remember those aren’t seated at the table.

Dry toast may not be your choice, and maybe dry clothing displays need not be either.  Wet and wondrous fine art photography that also inspired this First Draft Poem by Kel:

I can hear the surf of my heart
dance across the shores of ears and throat
best when I’m floating
hiding from the breathless
world above.
No mermaid here
just some bubbles laughing
a dugong* singing
curves and weightlessness.

*Our resident Aussie informs us that dugong is down under manatee relation.

And yes, this post was paused to satisfy a stupendous toast craving.

Butter and blushing pink sea salt and out.