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Today is Mathematics Day. As a student, sometimes I was good in math, sometimes not so good. It depended on the teacher. I was lucky enough to have a couple of excellent ones so I had two years, at least, of good math grades. But I wasn’t consistent.
I have a character who’s good at math. I enjoy writing her. One way she and I are alike is that a lot of my math was learned in the kitchen. I used that retro image above–some might say stereotypical–because my character’s a child in the Fifties. Whatever decade, I think any child, regardless of gender, liked being around on baking days. Nothing like licking batter from spatulas, beaters, and spoons; nobody knew sugar from salmonella or extract from E.coli in the old days.
Some of the best stories were to be heard in the kitchen, too, although I remember being sent on an occasional errand if there were things I wasn’t meant to hear. My character has a skill for quietly slipping under the table to eavesdrop in such situations.
I have lots of good memories of kitchens and everyone–female and male–who taught me things about cooking. It was a tasty way to learn about fractions. I really do use math every day in practical ways. Cooking’s only one of them.