So it's been, what, about 12 hours since our microwave went kaput. I spent a great deal of that time at work, so the significance didn't hit me until after I got home.
A co-worker had given me a lovely Christmas package, which included homemade bread. I usually slather a large slice with margarine and pop it into the microwave to warm and melt the margarine. Only, I can't.
Cayla made a late supper for us - lemon pepper chicken and au gratin potatoes. I was thinking if there were any leftovers, we could heat them in the microwave ... but, no.
I did suggest to Cayla that maybe we just need to clean the microwave, but she reminded me that the smell was kind of like ozone. So it's not burnt food, it's a microwave that has heated its last meal.
And I realize that my mourning over a microwave is kind of ridiculous. There are people mourning for real reasons. A former co-worker at the paper now works for an orphanage in Haiti where they take in handicapped children. Many of the children have families who can't care for them. One of the boys died overnight Friday - he was 3 1/2. One of my Facebook friends (from India) posted that her daughter's 15-year-old friend was raped and murdered - she might have been saved if the police has taken quicker action. Even closer to home - Kent is having a hard time adjusting to the death of his friend last week. So, all in all, I should be happy with what I have.
And on that note, I'm heading off to bed. I am teaching a Primary class in the morning, so I'll definitely be going to church.