Swept from the corners of my mind….
I have never been drawn to the kitchen. (I should say that I CAN cook. I just get no joy from it). Spawned near the end of a large family, others took the cooking lessons while I hid with my books. When I married, my husband enjoyed cooking. I did not. Thus, I was free to continue my avoidance of all things culinary for over 35 years.
As a widow I have shifted from regular meals to grazing. Rather than stand over a stove just to eat something warm, I nosh on fruit or munch microwave-heat-and-eat things. I even invested in an air fryer and found that I used it quite consistently…until I didn’t. So if it needs to not be cold, I go back to the microwave.
When we married, we bought a brand-new microwave. It lasted for around 20 years. When it needed replaced, the next only lasted around 10 years. Dang built-in obsolescence! MicroWave 2 quietly quit a few years ago and I got another, slightly smaller unit. Welcome, Micro3. I suspect we will be together as long as I live.
Micro3 didn’t have near the workload the One and Two had. Once or twice a week a container of frozen veggies got thawed for the birds. Maybe I’d heat up some rice or tater tots. Fast and simple. No baking or intricate meals.
I don’t remember what spilled in Micro3, or why I didn’t wipe it up right away, but the other day I discovered something splotchy and ick in there. I swear I saw mold. Instead of using a scrubby sponge with baking soda and vinegar I decided to try a “real” microwave cleaner. The directions were clear–cut the bag open, pour the liquid into the supplied plastic container, and let the appliance run for 3 minutes before gently wiping away the residue. There were even two more bags supplied so that the process could be repeated the next time I forgot to clean it. Easy Peasy.
I began the ritual, set the machine to whirring, then sat at the table to continue an art project. Before the bell dinged Chaos ensured. The smoke alarm started screaming. The larger parrot matched the shrieks, splitting my eardrums with his calls. Smoke was seeping out around the microwave door and loud electric buzzing, zapping sounds joined the wall of sound. And was that lightning contained behind the little glass portal?
I sprang across the room with the grace of a startled capybara and popped its door open, opened the kitchen door to the screened in porch, and began waving a tea towel at the fire alarm. The sounds quieted but the smoke stayed, so I decided to let things cool down before I wiped it out. The “cleaner” and its accompanying pouches, though, were quickly discarded. I didn’t want to go through that circus again!
After 3 days I decided it was safe to continue the task. Armed with paper towels and a bit of cleaning spray I popped the door. Things looked rather baked on, so I wet a sponge with water and set it for a minute to add steam power to the job. There were zaps and buzzes and mayhem, but no smoke. This time I had not walked away, so was faster opening doors and turning off appliances.
For some reason I thought a barely used appliance would recover from this mishap. (Was I thinking it would heal? Good luck with that!). Hypothesizing that moisture had seeped its way into the inner workings during its sauna, I wiped it out and again left it to dry.
Three more days later I gave a final try. I wanted to heat a small meal. I wiped Micro clean inside and out. The door was carefully latched with the dish inside and “3” was pushed.
Instantaneously, flashing and zapping began. Adrenaline rushed while I popped the door and yanked out the bowl. It was then I had to admit the truth: Esteemed Micro3 wasn’t just malfunctioning—it was out to get me! It had no loyalty, no pride. No appreciation of its light work schedule or lofty position as THE go-to appliance. Being the Sustainer of Birbs and Woman meant nothing to it. It was just a malicious, lazy box that liked hanging out in the kitchen doing no work. Well, uncommitted lazing about is MY job, and malicious Micro3-Its-All-About-Me is out of luck! In moments the rebellious device was unplugged and banished to the porch, and I informed the birds that for the foreseeable future we were a “cold snacks only” household.
They seemed relieved.
Cathy Bendle finds humour in the quirks of everyday life, from training teachers to dodging housework. When not writing, she’s either laughing at her pets, frantically Googling for her work assignments, or playing on her iPad. Her column appears every other Wednesday.
