Love, Laughter, and Life

Adventures With a Book Lover


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When We First Met

The fridge, our friend

By Angie Quantrell @AngieQuantrell

I remember the day I first saw you. I mean really saw you.

It was on Halloween, October 31, 2009.

That was the day we moved out of the spare bedroom of my in-laws’ home and into our own space. Such a beautiful day.

I opened you, ready to put cold items in for storage. Oh, look! They forgot a lovely crystal glass bowl.

So I carefully washed the bowl and put it away.

The next day, you surprised us with a shelf and trays full of water.

THAT was why the bowl was left behind. For the leak. From the ice maker. Which leaked pretty much non-stop.

The picture became even clearer the more we got to know each other. We discovered that you really loved to have a dish towel beneath the bowl, just in case you spilled over the edges. And those spaces under the veggie bins? That was your favorite spot for letting water pool and become a lovely icky tan.

The bowl and dish towel

This went on, the emtpying of the bowl of ice and water, replacing the dish towel, and starting the cycle again and again, for years. Until finally, we couldn’t keep up.

So we had to turn off the ice maker. It must have made you sad, but we couldn’t keep up with the water.

Ah. Now we wouldn’t need the bowl. We could use the entire inside of the fridge for our food.

Not true. From somewhere, deep within your beige walls, you had the capacity and urge to leak. Still. Even without a water connection.

Back went the towel and the bowl. It became a game of sorts. Some days there were no drips at all. We thought we might be able to dispose of both bowl and towel. But others days, a deluge of water filled the bowl and the bottom of the veggie drawers. Even with no water connection.

The end came, at last, when even the second shelf was often filled with standing water. One dish towel became two, then three. It was too much.

Good-bye, my leaky beige-y drippy friend. It has been good. Interesting. Confusing. Frustrating.

But you have been faithful. Our food stayed cold, even frozen.

Thank you for your service. I will always have fond memories of our time together, the good times and the bad.

The new fridge – without bowl and dish towel

Hello, beautiful. I remember the day I first saw you. It was April 15, 2016. Tax day.

Here’s to a long, drip-free relationship. Without the bowl and the dish towel.

Thanks for stopping by.

I would love to hear your tales of appliances gone bad.


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HOME

Home. What a big word.

 

Home is . . .

where I reside

the body I wear

the spouse I adore

my family of love

the animals I adopt

the nature that surrounds me

the future I hope for

my faith that centers me

friends who nuture me

fellow writers who encourage me

the city of my residence

the state and country of my belonging

the planet I inhabit

 

Home is a big word.

 

What does home mean to you?


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Never Use Scissors as a Tool

Mabel, expressing her disappointment. “I can’t believe you did that, mom.”

I’m embarassed to admit that I misused the scissors this morning.

The cat food container was stuck closed. It was very tightly sealed.

The food dishes were empty.

The (in their minds) gaunt kitties were starving.

The husband was already gone, so help was not available except for the above mentioned wasting-away gray girls.

What to do? What to do?

The not-intelligent thinker in my head suggested that I use scissors to pry up the lid.

Not the round-tipped kid scissors. No. Let’s try the pointy-tipped very sharp scissors. Yes. Those will help tremendously.

I didn’t need to be told twice, but grabbed the pointy-tipped scissors and began trying to pry up an edge on the food container.

Just as I was thinking This is not a good idea. These scissors could slip off of the metal and poke me. the unthinkable (apparently not unthinkable, as I had just thought it) happened. The scissors skidded off of the metal tin and slid right into my face!

Yes. Berating myself, I immediately felt blood running down my cheek.

Yes. I stabbed myself on the face.

As Hermoine Granger said in one of the Harry Potter movies, “What. An. Idiot.”

I am forever grateful that God saved me from my poor choice and protected my eyes, nose, and lips. He did not save me from crumbled pride. How humiliating to admit the error of my ways.

I am grateful that the small puncture and slice wound is tiny and the rest of me works quite well.

Warning from one who used scissors improperly: DO NOT use scissors as a tool. They are for cutting. Not prying, digging, scooping, or any other chore. Cutting. Period.

When was my last tetanus shot?


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5 things my mechanic never says

5 things my mechanic never says.