It finally died.  The rice maker that I received as a wedding present went kaput.  We were married in 1986.  This is 2026.  We’re calling that an even forty years.  (Technically, it’s probably 39.5, but one should always round up. Unless it’s your age, then round down to the closest 0 or 5.)  That rice keeper just kept on keeping on even after we broke the glass lid a few years ago.  Luckily, one of my saucepan lids mostly fit so we used that.   And then, yesterday, I dropped the rice cooker.  It wasn’t a big drop, just out of a lower cupboard shelf.  But I think I insulted it.  It stopped working out of spite. 

I received another appliance as a wedding gift: a Cuisinart food processor.  Before I got that lovely machine, I only had a knife, a big bowl, a blender, and a wooden spoon to mix and chop all things.  My dad, a gourmet cook, thought every kitchen should have a good strong food processor.  That was probably a spendy gift at the time.  There were many cheap versions around then.  That machine is still working well forty years later.  It’s not beautiful; there’s a big crack on the plastic front that catches on things when I lift it in and out of the cupboard.  But I use it frequently.  There is nothing like it for grating cheese, slicing veggies thin, or even mixing and kneading bread dough.  I still have the cookbook that came with it, decorated with pizza sauce stains on the pizza dough recipe page.  Every time I use it I think of my dad.   I hope I don’t drop it and break something deep inside.  Like my heart. 

I’m not sure I’ll replace the rice cooker.  I know how to cook rice on the stove, and I’m not convinced I can find a cooker that will last another forty years.  I am gradually simplifying our lives by decreasing the things we own.  When the last coffee maker broke after only having had it for one year, we went old school with a French press.  And, bonus, I’m drinking less coffee because it is just a little more difficult to make a large amount of coffee when the French press only holds three cups.  A friend calls that friction.  If there is more friction (work) involved in doing something, you tend to do less of it.  If I kept my red wine out in the barn, and had to walk outside to refill my glass, I would probably drink less of it.  But the mice would be giddy.