Recently, I had the thrilling challenge of teaching my 16-year-old grandson to drive a manual transmission. When approaching an intersection, he struggled to find the right choreography between clutch, brake, and shifting. To ease his way, I gave him the pattern, like a dance step chart, of clutch, brake, shift. He asked if that pattern always held. I hesitated as my high school Home Economics teacher, Miss Bueto, appeared on my shoulder, and then said, “Yes.”
I remembered one of the many lessons Miss Bueto emphasized in cooking class: never, ever put flour down a sink drain. She swore to us it would stop up the drain and we would have monumental plumbing bills as a result, and regret it for the rest of our lives. I thought she had the best interests of harried plumbers in mind. A conscientious student, I took her warning to heart and never, ever put flour down a sink drain . . . until . . .
I took a college level cooking class. Early in the semester, I watched in horror as the professor washed flour down the sink drain. I threw myself in front of the sink and urgently relayed to her the lesson from Miss Bueto about the damages flour would wreak when washed down the drain. I informed the professor that in the best interests of individual kitchen drainage systems, especially the one in the Home Economics building, and the sewer system at large, One. Must. Never. Wash. Flour. Down. The. Drain. Ever. The instructor gave me a fondly patronizing look and informed me that flour will only clog a drain if one uses hot water to wash it down. Hot water turns flour into glue, hence clogging the pipes. Cold water is safe, however. Cold water will wash the flour down the drain and into the sewer with no sticky mess, relieving plumbers of gluey overtime.
I stood in stunned silence. I felt that Miss Bueto, whom I had trusted explicitly, had betrayed us by giving us misinformation. One could wash flour down the sink with no ill effects, after all . . . IF it was done correctly. The penny dropped. Miss Bueto gave us partial information because that is what we could understand at that point. Better safe than pipes clogged by teenaged girls who can’t remember which temperature of water to use. Keep it simple. (As an added bonus, I also realized that pots used to cook anything starchy—grits, rice, potatoes—will clean much easier in cold water as the residue will not stick to the pot.)
In that moment of hesitation, when my grandson asked about order of clutch, brake, shift, I realized that as a beginning shifter, he needed the partial, simple answer. Once he has more experience shifting, he will learn that the order of clutch, brake, shift can vary, like dance steps. Thank you, Miss Bueto, for this lesson in life!
I had been writing the above piece in my head for a few weeks when I found out that Miss Bueto died recently at the age of 83. All three years of high school, I took a Home Economics class with Miss Bueto. She had fun while teaching and had a mischievous side, as well. One day during a sewing class, we were learning to pound certain seams to flatten them. She held the pounding block and with a twinkle in her eye, asked two students to put their fingers on the seam to hold it in place. They looked at her uncertainly. She was the teacher but they did not want their fingers smashed. Hesitantly, they shook their heads no. Miss Bueto’s eyes glimmered as she laughed and pounded the seam, minus student fingers. Thank you, Miss Bueto, for this lesson in laughter!
Cooking class involved more than simply cooking food. It also involved niceties such as table setting. One class, my fellow students and I set our table—place mats, cutlery, napkins, glassware—and took our seats. Miss Bueto appeared and asked us where our napkins belonged. Aghast, we moved them from the left side of the plate to every possible location—right side, top of plate, middle of plate. She kept saying, “No, no, no.” Finally, again with a mischievous sparkle in her eye she said, “In your lap.” Of course, we all hastily unfolded our napkins and thrust them into our laps. To this day, almost without thinking, I put my napkin in my lap when I sit down at the table. Thank you, Miss Bueto, for the lesson in etiquette!
After I graduated from high school, I did not keep up with Miss Bueto although I have thought of her many times over the years. However, she remains among my favorite teachers, one of those from whom I not only learned book lessons, but lessons in the dance of life, also. Thank you, Miss Bueto! Cha! Cha! Cha!
NOTE: I believe the photo is from an old yearbook.
