I bought our first microwave oven in December of 1977. It was my Christmas present to Cheryl. The primary purpose for the purchase was to make warming baby food for Alethea more convenient, but it was simple fun to discover what the modern marvel could do. That oven lasted well over twenty years; one day it just burst into flames. A good Southerner would have made space for it on the front porch next to an old couch, a rusty refrigerator, and a ringer washer where it could have helped keep watch over a couple of old cars set up on blocks and greeted company when they dropped by. But we don’t have a front porch and I didn't have the right tools to cut the top off and make a front yard flower pot out of it. (Southerners recycled before recycling was cool.) So we sent it to the dump. The new one is about twelve years old now. We use it just about every day, mostly to heat leftovers. Tonight it warmed a bowl of Cheryl’s chili. I don’t cook in the microwave except for a couple of chicken dishes. It is a tool of convenience, not preference. But in this day and age convenience seems a necessity. How else could we justify our self-importance? I am just too needed to waste time heating water on the stove top for my tea. The world would fall apart if I wasted time popping corn the old fashion way. Just think, it wasn’t too long ago we had to let butter get to room temperature by letting it sit for a while at room temperature. How quaint was that?
September 19, 2010