My refrigerator died two and a half weeks ago. After 14 years, almost to the day, the poor thing had finally had enough. And its death was not surprising.
My family worked that fridge hard. Babies to teens. First marriage to a second one. While all around it, things changed. New paint color. New flooring. Two new dishwashers.
For the last four years, the ice-maker has been broken. If you came to my house, you probably wouldn’t have known it didn’t work. We still got ice out of the chute on the door but only after we had frozen water in trays and dumped them in to the receptacle inside. We called it Polish ice.
(Hubs is Polish. He came up with that name. And he made most of the ice. Our kids are lazy and would rather drink warm water than make the ice.)
We are lucky because we have an old fashioned fridge, with the freezer on top, in our detached garage. We use it primarily for drinks and poultry that we buy in bulk. So the Saturday night we discovered that the fridge was dying, we were able to move everything out there.
Then we went online to order a new fridge. No big deal, right? The space where our refrigerator lives is on the smaller size so we were limited to what would actually fit. There was one that we liked, and our neighbors had the same one, so we ordered it.
At first, the delivery date was four days later. Ok, I could live with that. A day after that, the delivery had been pushed back for another week. Hmm. And then, over two weeks later.
But I didn’t want to start the search all over. And Home Depot had the lowest price. So we decided to wait. And wait. And wait.
In the meantime, every school morning, at 5:30 am, I was in and out of the house. Going back and forth between the kitchen and the garage. Bypassing the Sanford and Son-esque mess on my back porch. Bikes, propane tank, the backs to the front seats of my 1999 Audi, an old guitar case and two pairs of Rollerblades. Not to mention a case of paper towels that I dislike and refuse to use because they are non-absorbent.
In and out. Taking a coffee cup out there to fill up with milk. Half-asleep. Plus a pyrex cup to fill with more milk to make my kid hot chocolate. Fifteen minutes later, I would be back out there gathering the fixings to make the first breakfast of the morning.
Scrambled eggs with cheese for breakfast for the early high school kid. Plus orange juice. Then I would have to put everything back for an hour until it was time to make pancakes for the later middle school kid.
With the door chiming each time while the other members of my household slept soundly.
In and out.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I got sick of it pretty quickly. Especially each time the storm door hit my arm and made me slosh a little milk on to the floor. Or drop an egg. Or when I would forget the butter and have to go outside again.
But then yesterday, something magical happened. Home Depot showed up. When they said they would.
And now I am the proud owner of a new fridge. And I can’t stop thinking about it. I didn’t even want to go to work yesterday. I just wanted to stay home and hang out with my appliance, drink cold water out of the door and listen to the ice cubes drop.
I’m so happy. And relaxed. I honestly didn’t think a new appliance could make me feel this way. Like I just got laid.
I know. There’s something wrong with me. But you already knew that.