Our microwave died a spectacular, flaming death yesterday. It spontaneously came on by itself – SPOOKY – and then refused to be turned off. I like to think it was making its own Stephen Harper protest – FIGHT THE MAN, microwave! Alas, I do care about not burning the house to ashes so we had to throw the breaker and shut that thing down.
I wouldn’t have said that having a microwave was so critical to my kitchen experience. This winter when Andrea was hosting the Shopping Embargo, Laura at The Mindful Merchant lost her dishwasher and decided to just suck it up and wash by hand until the embargo was over. So I thought maybe we should just see how it goes for a while with no microwave. Live old school! Just like the Ingalls did!
Plus, we are a little low on disposable income at the moment. Did you know that new houses are programmed to begin a self-destruct sequence when they hit six years old? Ours is just over that and it seems every time I turn around, something is breaking or falling off or turning to dust. Light switches no longer snap, doorknobs won’t turn, blinds have lost their ability to open and close. Paint is peeling, the driveway is sinking, the furnace is angry at us for some reason it won’t say, like, this is not GOSSIP GIRL, furnace, spit it out.
So this microwave thing is one pretty giant straw on that camel’s back.
But this morning, oh man, my kitchen mojo was off in Siberia. I keep a huge stash of muffins, cookies, and biscuits in the freezer for the kids’ breakfasts and it was all off limits – no one wanted cold, hard grains this morning. I couldn’t heat the leftovers from dinner and throw them in a thermos, as is my usual lunch-making plan, so instead I had to pull out pans and use the oven to heat things up. I had to get out a pot to warm up the kids’ milk – LIKE A HEATHEN.
I have to say, when you have a sink full of dirty pots and pans at 7 in the morning, it does not bode well for the rest of the day.
I didn’t realize before today how much of my morning routine is built on muscle memory. Apparently, I can pretty much go in the kitchen and be mostly asleep, and yet still make breakfasts and lunches on automatic mode. When you take away one piece of the process, everything goes to pot. I felt awkward and cumbersome, my little morning dance struggling to fit to a new song.
I’m sure I could get used to it, learn to make it work. But it would be a lot of effort to retrain. And I’d have to do all that retraining with no breakfast in my belly, because my robot-loaded daily breakfast involves thawing frozen blueberries in the microwave for my bran flakes, which is now off the table. Think of the poor, bare naked bran flakes! It’s so sad.
I’m guessing my microwave-free lifestyle isn’t going to last too long.