I clearly remember the day we got our first microwave, at least I clearly remember parts of it. I have a vague notion of waiting in somebody else's car parked on main street probably in front of the old Woolworth's Department store while Mom and her friend went inside to pick something up. I think that something was the microwave oven. I tried mightily to find a picture of the model we owned on line, but there was nothing that came close to that pale yellow dinosaur. I liked it because it was so user friendly. You only had to decide how long you wanted it to run, turn the knob to indicate the number of seconds/minutes required and then hit the start button.
( note the conspicuous absence of a key pad here) No fussing with power settings, or defrost settings, it was either on or off and that was it. And it was built like a tank too! I think we used it at home for a solid 15 years before it went on to Mom's shop to work for at least another 10 without ever needing to go to the repair shop. I say I remember the day clearly because I will never forget how Mom Jamie and I gathered around our new space age wonder and watched as it cooked bacon on a paper plate right before our eyes. We were shocked and amazed, and hooked! From then on why turn on the stove if what Jamie later dubbed the "Micro-slave" could do it quicker and on a paper plate that did not have to be washed. That I guess was the beginning of our paper plate streak too. It was before the whole recycle thing had caught on, we were not asked to reduce our garbage when I was a kid, but just to please keep it in its proper place, what with the Indian crying over the trash strewn highway and the little white on green stick figure throwing garbage in a can with the catch phrase "Pitch In" Or Woodsy the Owl "Give Hoot! Don't Pollute! But back in the early seventies recycling was on the hippie fringe and not mainstream at all. So we had our stack of paper plates and a stack of plastic paper plate holders that would keep the paper plate from catastrophic failure long enough to eat whatever was on it -piping hot and fresh from the microwave. I did not realize how enmeshed in my life the microwave had become until I moved from home for the first time when I was 17. I had graduated high school and moved to Amarillo with the girl across the street, Cathy Clancy. I was standing in the kitchen of our apartment with a saucepan of cold Kraft macaroni and cheese and not the faintest idea of how to re-heat it for my lunch. I went to throw it in the microwave when I realized I did not have one anymore and I could not imagine how I could heat it on the stove without cooking it to death. I called Mom long distance ( also a big deal back then)to find out how to reheat food without a microwave. Fortunately my life without a microwave did not last long. The staff at Cannon Chapel all chipped in and gave us a nice new ammana model for a wedding present. I will never forget one of the chaplains saying " A Microwave oven? Dang! All I got when I got married was a picture of Jesus at the rock!"