The woman who owns Corning Ware is delightful. I once had dinner in a small home with her and her friends. After we ate they spent the evening around the piano, everyone singing show tunes.

I remember her often as John and I cook with Corning Ware on the stove top. I plop in soup or beans and rice in a sauce stir once and think, “I’m not waiting here. I have pictures to draw, I’ll come back in three minutes.” And I always do remember. The smoke alarm won’t let me forget.

Corning Ware is so easy to clean and as John was washing dishes last night he said, “I don’t think of this as one of our pots and pans,” and he held up an ancient piece of Corning Ware, “It’s something special. it’s an altar. It’s a place to put burnt offerings.

The picture below is me, Corning Ware, and the music we make on the smoke alarm.   nancymauerman.com

Salamander Dreams I