My mother was a great mom but she took some really hard stands. When she said no, it meant no, not maybe. You couldn’t wheedle things out of her. She also wanted her children to stand up for themselves. We learned fast that you didn’t cry to Mom if you thought the teacher (or in our case, nun) wasn’t fair. Most likely (like all the time) she took the teacher’s side, suggesting that perhaps we could study harder, stay quiet in class, whatever. We were tough! We ate all our crusts — pizza, sandwiches, everything.

For the most part, her sage advice served me well. I spend my early working years in an engineering organization. That was back in the days when all engineers were male and yes, they used pocket protectors which did not stop the ink from staining their threadbare shirts. Engineers are thrifty and in some cases, downright cheap.

Yesterday, I pushed the envelope. I actually cut the crust off of my sandwich. My mother never let me do that as a child. Many of my pampered friends were allowed to cut off that hard edge. My mother (the same one who survived the great depression) was not going to let me waste anything even if it was dried hard bread. Besides, crust gave you shiny hair.

“Schmutz a little butter on and it’ll be fine” was her mantra.

So for 65 years I didn’t even think of cutting it off until yesterday. It was a premium Vienna bread that was only a couple of days old. Not really too hard yet but without much flavor. I don’t know what I was thinking but clearly, something must have set me off.

It was glorious! I didn’t need any strategy to nibble around the dry edges and save the best part (the soft luscious center) for last because it was all soft and luscious. I should do that more often. Maybe even pizza crust!

Of course, I could not bring myself to throw the crusts away so I chopped them up for the birds. I wonder if birdmoms let their fledglings eat the center part without the crust??