January used to be for wiping the slate clean: packing up décor, sweeping up debris, and making grand resolutions to go to the gym.

This year, there’s no time for that. I’m too busy learning to use my new labor-saving devices: a 17-pound Ninja 3-in-1 Cooking System, a 12-piece plastic Egger cooking system, and (as seen on TV) the 10-piece WaxVac, described as a “gentle and effective” system for cleaning my ears.

All landed under the tree in spite of a recent post-garage-sale mantra that I would only be acquiring things I could eat, wear or drink.

“The Ninja is related to eating,” explained its benefactor, my Significant Other, who had co-authored the mantra. He sweetened the pot by offering to make many of the speedy steamed, roasted, layered, or slow-cooked meals for us in the sleek, fully automated countertop warrior.  Oddly, at that moment, he also handed me the instruction book.

So did my younger son, when he gave me the WaxVac, which resembles a giant, battery-operated glue gun, and the Egger, which is supposed to relieve me of the aggravation of peeling hard-boiled eggs.

For someone who generally reads the instructions after using an appliance, receiving a trio of new gadgets at once has amounted to an all-absorbing, trial-and-error triathlon.

First, the most elaborate and instructionally complete Ninja. Besides a 10-panel fold-out “let’s show you how” guide, it came with a 25-page “inspiration guide” (more commonly known as a recipe book), and an 11-page owners guide with a toll-free help-line number.

So far, of the three gadgets, the Ninja has worked hardest to save me from myself.  Named after feudal Japanese mercenaries who excelled at espionage, sabotage, and occasional assassinations, it used bold print to keep me from throwing water into the motor instead of the cooking pot. It automatically switched itself into “Warm” mode when the cooking was done as opposed to counting on me to power it down.  When I wrestled a four-pound, mustard-covered pork roast into the pot without reading a thing – and then could not get it to turn on – the owners guide had big pictures showing the power buttons.

That said, some might say the inspiration guide is guilty of bait-and-switch. How, for example, can I re-create the picture of a lovely browned chicken breast beside slender asparagus spears when the instructions say to slice the chicken thin and chop the asparagus into half-inch chunks? But maybe that is why it is called an inspiration guide.  It means, “Look at the pictures. Don’t read.” Which suits me fine.

Anyway, the Ninja is way less confusing than the Egger, which is essentially a multi-part plastic egg shell that must be sprayed with cooking spray and – oops – securely fastened around a raw egg and plunged into boiling water for various time periods depending on the size and desired consistency of the egg. True, the results did not have to be peeled, but that was because there were no results – the egg having leaked out and foamed itself up and over the sides of the pan. The Egger could have used a few more warnings.

To the contrary, the WaxVac provided as many warnings as a pre-surgical release form. I actually read and adhered to them because, like most people, I am a little nervous about putting something that looks like a giant glue gun in my ear.

Besides being careful not to vacuum deeper than 1/8 inch into my ear canal (and wondering exactly where the canal started and how I could measure), I’ve been careful not to plunge the WaxVac into the bathtub. And I have absolutely not – another warning – used it while driving.

I’d like to say I’ve mastered all the gadgets this well, cleaned my slate, and am forging Ninja-like into the gym.

At the moment, though, I’m not there. I’d be happy if my slate were as clean as my ears.

Copyright 2014 Pat Snyder