My husband was a great gadget man. During our marriage, seldom a week passed without his bringing home some new mechanical device. I remember a new-fangled vegetable slicer which not only sliced vegetables, but at the flip of a wrist could amputate your finger tips and anything else which might cross its path. I had the first garberator, the first dishwasher on the block. I okayed the potato slicer and deep fryer because he agreed to preside over their operation personally. Besides, the children were on his side

One day my husband brought home some new plastic tumblers advertised as being unbreakable. His idea was to permanently replenish our dwindling supply of glass tumblers which were constantly being dropped onto the kitchen floor by the children. Once we broke two glass tumblers at one meal. Seeing I was not duly impressed with the brilliance of his discovery, my husband decided to demonstrate. Standing tall, all six feet of him, he raised his arm and dropped one of the plastic tumblers to the tiled floor. Crash! To his dismay it broke into a dozen pieces. "I can't understand it," he said. "They told me these things were unbreakable." I tried to suppress my amusement, and I have to admit that in the long run, the two dozen plastic tumblers did last much longer than the glass ones.

If there were a new toaster or poacher on the market, you could be sure my husband would find it and bring it home. I have probably never given him due credit for trying to modernize my reactionary kitchen - I always tended to interpret his obsession for gadgets as an attempt to compensate for his mechanical ineptitude. From my husband's point of view it must have seemed like gross ingratitude.

My reactionary attitude toward gadgetry goes back a long way. My explanation always was that I preferred simplicity and, moreover, gadgets constantly required repairs. Even my mother thought I was a little strange in this respect. When she discovered 25 years later that I was still using the one-handled rolling pin she gave me at the time of my marriage, her worst fears were confirmed. One of my gifts from mother the following Christmas was a brand new two-handled model. When I thanked her, she said with a meaningful look, "It's about time."

Fortunately our children have inherited the best tendencies of both parents in this respect. My boys have always been very good with their hands, but are not above using gadgets to save work. When I reproved them for failing to help with the dishes, they saved up and bought me a dishwasher.

After my husband died in 1963, most of the kitchen gadgets I had collected were packed away and stored on basement shelves. At intervals, I noticed more of them turning up in my sons' family kitchens.

"I remember that old egg poacher," I would say, "your father bought it in 1950." "Right, Mum," would be the reply, "I found it on one of your basement shelves - it still works like a charm." Despite what they say, I always remember the electronic garage door opener which was supposed to be a minor modern miracle. It almost never worked!

Today all four of my children have microwave ovens, dishwashers and such things, whereas I have happily reverted to my true reactionary self. To tell the truth, mechanical things have always intimidated me - I'm always afraid I'll push the wrong button and the whole darned thing will blow up. Now that I live alone in retirement, I can do as I like. Now I'll settle for the simple life - safe and uncomplicated, thank you very much.