One Writer’s Recipe for Writing

Photo credit: Pexels on Pixabay

When I was young, I treated recipes with undue reverence. I assumed that the unknown creators possessed knowledge and wisdom that I did not, to the point where, at age eleven, I consulted the back of the SpaghettiOs can to see how long I should cook them and at what temperature. (The instruction to “cook until heated through”—no time, no temperature—left me flummoxed.)

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The Slow Cooker is the Greatest Invention in the World

Okay, that’s probably an overstatement. The heart-lung machine, or whatever they call the device that keeps people alive during heart transplants. The airplane, at least before the industry got so ridiculous about cramming people in like sardines, and now is paying for it in spades because social distancing prevents them from doing this. The can opener. The piano. Innumerable vaccines. Ball-point pens. Deodorant. Motor vehicles. Computers. The pump that brings water up from a deep well. Air conditioning.

Fine. The slow cooker, formerly known as the Crock Pot, isn’t the greatest invention. But it’s a damned good one.

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