I'm Staying Calm, yes I am!

There was a time when something like this would make be berserk! But I've been very good about it, amazingly good. Real cool. Oh, yes, you're a bissel curious as to what the problem is, obviously it's a problem.

For the past few months, my kids, at least the ones who visit, have been making nasty comments about my trusty old refrigerator. One even had the gall to accuse it of making him sick! Can you imagine such a thing? In reaction my husband, to show how generous he could be, gave me the green light to go fridge shopping, and I did. But I didn't buy one yet.

So today, Shabbat of all days, I noticed that the food wasn't coming out of it cold. Yes, it had died. My refrigerator died at the ripe old age of twenty. We got it for this house and moved in twenty years ago. During the twenty years, it didn't require a single repair. It kept our food cold with dignity. I'm certain that one of the reasons is that I didn't annoy it by too much intimate cleaning. I respected its privacy. We had an excellent working relationship.

And tomorrow I must buy a replacement. It will be a tough act to follow.

PS If you're curious as to what happened to all of the food in the fridge and freezer section, all I can say is: "That's what neighbors are for." My neighbors here in Shiloh are wonderful. I couldn't survive without them.


The fridge...
...has arrived!!

Last night I got a call from the stockroom asking how to get to Shiloh. That had me a bit nervous, justifiably, since the salesman had been so confident that delivering "out here" was no problem, just routine.

I described the route as best as I could, and then I waited and waited and waited. I also re-washed the kitchen floor, especially the area where the fridge would be residing. Honestly, how often do you think I move fridges to clean behind? Then I waited.

Finally, I got a call. "Lady, we're in Shiloh. Where are you?" I tried to ascertain where exactly they were. Somehow, they had entered the school's parking area, not quite my neighborhood. "Here's a little girl; we'll ask her and give you the phone." The young woman, who hadn't been a "little girl" for quite a while, directed them to my neighborhood. Then they called again: "Lady, where are you?" I stepped out of the house, into the street, cell phone to the ear, again trying to figure out where exactly they were. And it started to rain. Finally, they seemed to be nearby, and I thought that I heard the heavy truck lumbering close by. I stood in the middle of the street and saw them turn into it. I waved my free arm as I shouted into the phone: "I see you; do you see me?"

There was no room to park the truck, so they had to block the road with it. I quickly checked my watch to see if a bus was expected within the next 15 minutes. Baruch Hashem, it seemed like they had almost a half an hour before annoying the bus driver and tired commuters. I pointed to my house and ran back, opening the doors, haunted by the memory of the delivery of my first washing machine to our Jerusalem apartment almost 35 years before. We couldn't get it through the door to the "service balcony" and the deliveryman had to cut through the door frame.

The fridge was still in its giant carton and loomed large, very, very large. They bounced it up the front stoop, only about six steps, as my stomach bounced along with it. Miraculously it got through both doors. The fancy metal "carry-wagon wheels" chipped some of my walls. This deliveryman didn't carry it on his back, like I had expected. I guess they don't make deliverymen like they used to. Finally it was in, and they acted surprised, when I asked them to "unveil" it. But they did it and maneuvered it into its freshly-cleaned little corner. They even schlepped all the wrappings out to the garbage.

I paid them, including a generous tip, and gave them directions to get to the Tel Aviv area. They were pleasantly surprised at how close we are to Ariel, which is on their usual route, and I'm sure that the tip cheered them immensely.

I called the store to double-check (ok, I must have called the poor sales guy twenty times this past week) how long until I could plug the fridge in. I started the two hour count-down.

While waiting, my husband came home, inspected the fridge and wasn't impressed. Then son #1 came home, inspected the fridge, face lit up--he likes it! But he thought it could have gone into the corner without his having to raise the upper cabinet.

Finally, the two hours were up and my son moved it out a bit, so he could plug it in. we heard the motor start and then waited until it began to feel cool inside. When I felt it was cool enough I took an empty basket to my next door neighbor to return our food back home. Instead of the five or more trips Saturday night, when the fridge had stopped working; this time it only took me only two. We had eaten up the rest during the week. This morning, I'll send my son to the neighbor who has been storing the frozen food.

And now I must put away all of the things that used to live on its top and front. Of course, I'll have to make a few changes. The extra ten centimeters of height make it much harder for me to get things from its top, but stretching is healthy for an aging body.

Now to clean up all the clutter, no more excuses.

Shabbat Shalom