Let's get the not post-worthy posts out of the way:
Front door exterior refinished (beautiful, photo worthy, currently obstructed by webs)
Porch doors: new handles and hooks and eyes. Redeeming, but boring.
My week began Monday morning with the discovery that over the weekend my refrigerator had died a slow death. Not the freezer mind you – it was frosty and healthy – but the fridge? Mmmm. Not so much.
Exhibit A: Note the f a b u l o u s tangerine orange Kitchen Aid on top!
This is a post-mortem photo of my old friend, Fridge. Fridge is 16 months old, and was born at the Whirlpool factory. It's nearly a one-of-a-kind. (Backstory, not that interesting, another time.)
Last week, determined to return to old habits, I scoured my recipes (and some of you have seen my very voluminous recipe pile) for a few that I wanted to try, and drove myself to Kroger. Yes, Kroger. Not Wholefoods. (Further evidence of the old habits.) I bought great ingredients, and even made 2 of the 4 recipes, and had leftovers in the fridge. Also with the leftovers were the ingredients for the remaining – and what I can only presume would have been – stellar recipes.
Alas, Monday after work I filled and toted three garbage bags of (possibly warmer than) room temp groceries to my dumpster. (It seems fitting to tell you here that my garbage pick up day is Friday. Uh huh. Which is good, because at the time of the demise my city dumpster was empty. What’s bad is that today is Friday again. I’ll let you make that very aromatic deduction.) The bottom line? Money, time, anticipation of great meals and a feeling of accomplishment – Poof! Murphy is alive and well.
I won’t torture you with the details of back statements from my friends (they are, really – I do love them) at American Express, the hunt for that 4 foot long receipt from my acquaintances at Lowe’s, and the eager anticipation of an email from the Lowe’s archive department. (Who even knew? I didn’t. But I hope that it entails more than one employee on dial up in a cubicle. If not, I am going to lobby on their behalf for better working conditions.) No, I won’t go there. But I will say… I think my fridge is going to be famous. Uh huh. F A M O U S. It appears that very soon I will say “farewell, friend” and send it on a cross-country trip alone, never to see it again. (Wake up – that’s the intrigue!) Today I cannot divulge details. But if you are an insider and you know what Red and I do for a living, maybe you can hazard a guess. And if you catch us on the phone or in the bowling alley? Stroll right up and ask us.
At any rate, for the next we-don’t-know-how-many-days, there will be one less large appliance in my kitchen. A neighbor was kind enough to loan me a little cubic dorm refrigerator (bad memories – bad!) that she had in her garage. So kind. I look at it, and it’s lovely. But what could possibly fit in there? Say I do buy say, salad stuff. And when I say salad stuff, I mean the stuff for that Red calls "the big salad." The two types of dressing. The eggs to hard boil. The fantastic pepperocini peppers. (Thank you, CA sister!) Olives! And – and… and then I look at the little fridge. Hmm. Yeah, probably not. Not to mention I would have to sit on the floor to get all that stuff out. So you know what’s in there? Brown rice, for Greta. Red’s Italian take out leftovers. And 2 beers. Hey, c’mon, a girl has needs. I can’t feed you if you come to dinner, but I’ll give you my last beer. That’s love, baby.
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