Simple Living with Wanda Urbanska

Wanda's Diary Entries

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

When I arrived in Poland last October and set up shop in Malgosia’s townhouse here in the Bielany section of Warsaw, Poland, I quickly sized up her kitchen. It was modern and inviting, a recently remodeled open kitchen with sleek Scandinavian-style cabinets, wooden countertops, artful tiles inset in the wall, and a stainless steel dishwasher and gas range. There was only one thing that separated it from the state of the art American kitchen: No microwave was anywhere to be found.

Even though I live simply in the States, a number of years ago, I succumbed to the convenience of this seemingly mandatory kitchen appliance. Like most Americans, I’ve grown accustomed to having one around. How else do you heat cups of coffee, warm leftovers, and for the under-sixteen set, pop popcorn?

I calculated the cost and decided to offer to chip in half on the cost of a microwave purchase. It would be worth it to me for even nine months here, I figured, in time saved on meal preparation. I planned to eat out seldom and cook at home almost all the time. A decent microwave could be had for 300 zlotys, or just over $100 USD. If we split the cost, that would set me back by no more than one good restaurant dinner out for two.

Malgosia accepted my offer. So there we were at the Galleria Mokotow, a giant shopping mall, about to make the selection of a microwave when the call came from Henry’s school.

“Don’t worry; your son is okay,” a male teacher informed me. “He fell in the boys’ room and hit his head. He’s here with me now. It’s not serious but it appears that he passed out. You need to come over and pick him up.”

Don’t worry. These words mock mothers like me who do nothing else when accidents like this occur.

Needless to say, the microwave was immediately forgotten and all my thoughts turned to Henry. What could it be? Why would a normal 12-year-old boy pass out in the boys’ room in the middle of the day? If something were seriously wrong, we’d be on the next plane to the States, I was thinking. I shared the incident with my friends and family in the States, expecting them all to urge me to high-tail it home and take protective cover and medical care.

None of them did. They all suggested that I do tests in Poland and stick it out. My sensible sister Jane said: “You’ve been planning this sabbatical so long, don’t give it up unless you’re forced to.”

I spent the next few days putting Henry through a battery of medical tests. He passed all with flying colors: neurological, blood, etc. Grzegorz, my physician cousin from Poznan, set up a phone “check up” in which I took my son’s pulse, asked my son a battery of questions and reported the answers back to my caring first cousin, who had once been named one of Poland’s top 100 doctors. Before long, Dr. Grzegorz pronounced that “the young are weaker than the old” — they’re growing so fast. Henry was hungry, dehydrated and hadn’t slept enough the night before. Passing out was not abnormal, and it could happen. Grzegorz himself had fainted when about the same age. Make sure your son gets enough sleep, eats a full breakfast and remains hydrated. Pretty basic stuff.

Well, we got Henry back on track, and the subject of the microwave never again reared its modernistic head. Moments like that one back in October are defining ones. They tell us what really counts, and microwaves simply don’t.

This scenario, of course, is every retailer’s nightmare. Malgosia and I walked away from the purchase never to return. Sure, occasionally I’ve missed the convenience of being able to zap a bowl of soup or a cup of coffee. Believe me, reheating coffee over gas flames is no picnic, but it can be done. You just have to slow down.

I have learned in these six months in Poland that you can live without a microwave. You can live without a whole lot of things. When I return to the States, who knows, maybe I’ll never buy another one again.