Recently, my kitchen stove was out of commission for a week due to a faulty thermostat. I had to improvise dinner for a few nights, limiting the menu to things that could be microwaved or cooked on my electric griddle. My youngest son glanced around the dinner table with a questionable look on his face. He stared at the mismatched drinking glasses, the mixed patterned silverware and the Zataran's Beans and Rice with sliced ham steak I was serving as our main course.
"Wow," he said. “I guess we really are in a depression.”
I hope this is the only new depression era story he will have to tell his own children after things change for the better for all of us.
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