Skip to main content
More lake news: they've installed microwaves in the cabins. Okay. This is deeply disturbing to me. First of all, let's be honest. The furniture is rickety at best. Harvest gold plaids went out of style with the Bradys. The easy chairs with no legs never were in style. The high chair is just plain dangerous. The pots and pans are not non-stick; that's baked-on grease. So bringing in cute little white microwaves seems like some perversion of priority.

Not to mention! Microwaves introduce things like frozen dinners, oatmeal with dinosaurs, and something called EasyMac. This is just wrong. Sick and wrong. Why, when I was a kid we chipped ice away from the lake's edge just to get our drinking water and then lit a fire to melt it.

And the microwaves are really tiny and inadequate. It took 14 minutes to defrost my chili.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Last night was the first meeting of the writing group. It is a quirky group. The other Odyssey grad seems like a good contact to have. He told me about a group led by Ted White near here. I’m thinking about looking into that one, too. I suppose I can’t be gone every evening. Anyway, this group (the one from last night) will force me to produce at least two pieces a month. That alone is worth the price of admission. Well, the price of gasoline, anyway.
Life is a little tough these days. Taking a break. I will be back with more tales of grasshoppers and compost heaps and scrabble games soon.
I have to confess something. I enjoy reading Anne Lamott. Okay, okay, I know that makes me more touchy-feely than I usually admit. She is very lovey. She talks about mystical things. She freely admits to praying (although she uses the F-word frequently in her books about “faith”. I like this in a person.) She talks about breathing. She is very real, and I admire this. She talks about her parents and her son with a mix of love and frustration and grumpiness. She admits, in public, in her writing, to sometimes being angry, sometimes disliking her loved ones, to having to work very hard to forgive them. I like to think I’m like her in a lot of ways, but I don’t share this ability. I can’t easily look at someone I love, look them in the eyes, and say “I’m really angry with you.” “I am mad.” “That was a bad thing you did. To me.” Instead, I’m the sort that says, “Oh, gosh, I’m sure you didn’t mean to run over my dog. It’s okay. I was meaning to get rid of that old thing soo...