Iím never going to learn with the microwave. We had a set of Melmac type dinner plates when we were first married. As we moved to more permanent china dishes, these plates became sort of utility items that we used for taking meat out to the grill and other mundane kitchen tasks. The more time elapsed, the fewer of the set remained. Of course none were discarded, but they ended up under house plants to protect furniture and in basement and garage positions. Two have remained in their rightful kitchen posts on the bottom of the plate pile in the cupboard.
The other day I had a frozen dinner of some sort, either Mexican or Chinese; itís often hard to tell the difference. The directions said to microwave it on high for five minutes etc. ďIíll just use one of the two remaining nondescript plastic plates under it so that if it spills, I wonít have to clean up the microwave,Ē I thought. After about two minutes, I heard that familiar cracking sound that accompanied the demolition of one of the yellow Windsor dessert plates. I quickly opened the microwave and reached in to pull the foreign dinner entrťe out and burned my fingers on the plate. The black plastic tray the food was on was not hot, but the plate was red, or whatever color hot plastic gets, hot. It was still intact but there was a brown spot forming on the edge. Okay, so those are not microwave safe either, eh? Come to think of it; when we got those, probably from a gas station or grocery store, in the Ď50s, the only microwaves were Radar Ranges in eating and drinking establishments, so dinnerware manufacturers didnít have to worry about plates exploding. I know better; I just donít have that caution programed in my brain cells.
One of my female friends told me that she thought this older guy was whispering sweet nothings in her ear until she realized her hearing aid batteries were dead. I think maybe she was putting me on, but I appreciate her sense of humor accompanying old age. You canít stop the progression of age so you might as well laugh at it.
This last week I lost one friend and two acquaintances. All three were male. One was younger, one older, and one about my age. Although I donít need to be reminded, it certainly points out the old adage that no one gets out of this alive. All of them lived full, successful lives with a positive influence on those who came in contact with them, and I guess thatís what is most important. We are going out of here just like we came in. Even that British kid came into this world naked, and heíll go out the same as the rest of us.
If youíve been reading this column for a while, you will be glad to know that I found some of the missing sheets that had not been converted into drop cloths.
Let us greet new widow(er)s with sympathy and understanding; for once we can say, ďI know how you feel,Ē and mean it.
Remember we are all in this together. You can reach me at firstname.lastname@example.org