Our refrigerator is on the fritz. It has gone on strike.
In other words, my stainless steel, state of the art kitchen tool is not pulling its weight. Two years ago, after thorough research, we paid a lot of money to an appliance company for a dependable fridge, one that keeps foods cold or frozen as needed.
Yes, the refrigerator in question checked out on its second birthday. When I texted my sad news to a friend, she replied, “That’s a bummer. Refrigerators aren’t worth a #%@# anymore. All are made so cheap.”
I’ve been married twice as long as I lived with my parents. In that time, I watched three toddlers transform into children and then teenagers.
I can’t begin to guesstimate the number of times per day they opened and closed the refrigerator doors in search of the next good thing to eat. Now young adults, the refrigerator—like a treasure chest—is their first stop upon strolling through our front door.
I’ve owned deeds to only seven refrigerators. Of those, three came with homes we bought, two of which we sold with said houses. Gary and I retired the third one, not due to a breakdown, but for fear it would choose to go on vacation after countless years of service.
When we moved into our “this ole house circa 1910″—the home where we raised our kids—we bought our fourth—a brand-new ginormous refrigerator. I pictured my toddlers creating endless streams of ice and water battles and decided we could live without those bells and whistles on the door, and we did.
There was nothing fancy about that fridge. It was a simple design in white—top freezer and bottom refrigerator. But it sported the depth and width of a small cave. It stored enough food and more for our army of kids and their friends, card-carrying members of our revolving back door club.
That fridge was a tank of an appliance, and I loved it. It served us without a glitch for 25 years, 20 as a cherished part of our kitchen and, after we remodeled, it worked five additional years from the garage.
We parted with our beloved tank only after we sold the house. For all I know, it is still cooling overflow food and beverages for the sweet young family that now lives there. If so, I’d love to reclaim it.
Our two-year old good-for-nothing replaced a side-by-side that came with this house. Side-by-sides don’t agree with container sizes I’m drawn to at the grocery store. After owning a tank, side-by-sides just don’t get it for me.
Thus, my search for another tank began. Believe it or not, today’s top-freezer refrigerators come in size small only. That’s why I went for the French door variety with a bottom freezer. It is similar to the one that replaced the tank after the kitchen remodel of our former house, but obviously not as efficient—not even close.
A girl raises an eyebrow when water poured from the fancy door dispenser is room temperature. When, in the freezer, lemonade is lemon syrup and ice cream is ice milk, she knows she has a problem, a big one.
There is good news. We bought a five-year warranty for that no-good, piece of trash two-year-old fridge. The work order is in. Twelve days later, we’re still waiting and praying for the repair to happen.
In the meantime, I am oh, so thankful we put the side-by-side to work in the garage. I owe it an apology for my earlier insults. I am ever-indebted to the fridge I abandoned. It may not be my style, but it works.
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