first person

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My Osterizer blender sounds like a helicopter preparing for liftoff. It was white back in 1976. Now it’s yellowed to the colour of old piano keys. The glass pitcher is scratched from almost 50 years of use. The base is heavy, substantial, built when things were built to last.

I unwrapped it at my first wedding – a seventies flower-child affair in my parents’ backyard, where I wore an ivory dress made by a seamstress friend of my mother’s and had flowers in my hair. The blender outlasted that marriage.

These days, I mostly use the Osterizer to emulsify soup. But somewhere along the way of 50 years of blending, it became a vessel for all the

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