My best example of the benefits of learning comes from my old neighborhood. Chuck was my neighbor, a living legend who was then in his late seventies. He had the traditional Horatio Alger story of come-uppance, eventually climbing to status of a CFO for a major Wichita corporation. One day he shared his secret of success with me: “Learn something every day.” This edict had been given him by the company founder, a man who took a sincere interest in his employees and their personal success. Chuck said that his boss would check in on his progress regularly, and he never wanted to let his boss down. The challenge of always learning something new propelled his success. It was the juice that kept him going, and going, and going. When my neighbor shared this with me, the war in Iraq was just starting, and that week he had decided to learn about Islam.

So from my vantage point of the outside, I’m going to look into the kitchen…you know, where food is cooked. The kitchen, it’s a place where men fear to trod, yet women are best found barefoot and pregnant, so the thinking runs. It’s that room in the house most costly to remodel. It’s that place that is moving from linoleum and lace to granite countertops, indirect lighting, and hardwood flooring. It’s a place entire magazines are now dedicated to, and it is the center of every convenience and innovation in America, from gizmos and utensils to processed cheese food.

From my vantage point of an English teacher, I have an appreciation for nice, short Anglo-Saxon words like food and cook. That words such as these survive the millennium and remain monosyllabic and virtually unchanged (except a vowel shift, but we’re not going there) tells me that they must be central to our culture and our humanity.

From the vantage point of a guy with an appetite, I have an even greater appreciation for the kitchen and all that comes out of it. Nothing beats the aroma of baking bread wafting through the home. As we have all just turned the calendar past the seasons of celebration, all those smell-good, feel-good memories are likely fresh at hand. I surprise myself that I have mouth-watering recall of my grandmother’s noodles served at Thanksgiving over thirty years ago. Food, then, is fundamental to our memories.

Once upon a time, not only was the product of the kitchen central to memory, culture, and humanity, but the place of its production was, as well. Food did not come from a kitchen, that is, “the place of cooking,” but it was shared from the hearth.

I was discussing this column idea with some people, and the term hearth was so alien to them, they thought I had a lisp. “You mean, ‘heart,’ right?” That sent me on an etymological dig, which I will spare the reader, except to report that though nearly homophones, the two words have different origins and root meanings, save this: hearth is ‘burning place’ while heart is ‘center.’

I was recently reading an architect’s dissertation of the displacement of the hearth by technological advance. Architects are always looking for something to design around, whether it’s a theme or a mood or a philosophical theorem. (I know, I had some for roomies in college, and they were constantly rearranging our dorm room desks and beds to evoke atmosphere.) This dissertation’s thesis really struck home (no pun intended) when it explained the physicality of the hearth and its evolution. Virtually all anthropological digs seek tools and/or fire as indications of civilization. Early fire pits evolved to indoor fire pits, a hearth. (Note: a nice, simple Anglo-Saxon word here, again?) As we became more sophisticated, the fire pit took on a mantle, chimney, etc, and the beautiful burning place became a fireplace. The term hearth now defines that part of a fireplace that is visibly containing fire, a stony, fireproof, protective spot.

The architect claimed that the hearth once was the center, a focus of warmth and family life. Cooking yes, but also home heating, light, and conversation were all huddled around the hearth. Then, as technology advanced, smaller, cleaner, and more insulated methods of containing fire reduced the hearth to a stove, a machine. He continued, stating, “The stove is now present in the kitchen as a machine, independent of its environment and not able to evoke nor support the making of a place. It is a functional object now disconnected from its past and from its ability to contribute to family life.” As with so many other advances, there comes a loss.

I have cleaned fireplaces and wood stoves, and I am, as a result, a champion of central heat and air…and microwave ovens for that matter. Truth be told, I like to cook; I just don’t like to clean up. As a bachelor, I spent my fair share of time in the kitchen thawing out frozen dinners and making SPAM sandwiches. As a married man, I know my place is traditionally in the garage or simply outside; however, in my home, I’m welcome in the kitchen. Our home has a sizeable kitchen, and in light of my exploration of the hearth, I’m dedicating myself to reclaiming some of the atmosphere of the ‘burning place.’ I’m hoping to change the center of my home from the glowing blue box to the warm, fulfilling flame.

That’s, erh…not a resolution, just a goal for the new year.