Comfort and Joy…

Peace on Earth

May your walls know joy, may every room hold laughter, and every window open to great possibility
— Mary Anne Radmacher

Perhaps it’s the age thing…or maybe that I’ve been faithful with Andy and Headspace for 63 days straight, and counting, but since Thanksgiving weekend I’ve been playing Christmas music…non-stop…even when working out.

Oh come on, you can say it: That is weird!

“Silent Night” and a myriad of variations of “Jingle Bells”…while lifting weights?  Yes…weird.

Oh, but how magical these past weeks have been!  I feel like the kid I should have been allowed to be all those years ago.  

Better late than never, wouldn’t you agree?!

So, Thanksgiving weekend had us in the scenic Blue Ridge mountains attending a blast of a wedding.  Specifically, Asheville, NC., an off-beat college town nestled in the mountains between the confluence of the French Broad and Swannanoa rivers.  On the heels of a weekend full of wedding festivities our spirits were high during our long drive home.  Though the skies were winter-weary gray and the chill in the air was enough to warrant bun-warmers on full blast in the car, the seven hour drive had me singing to the sounds of the seasons nearly the entire way home.  Curiously, all these weeks later I still am not jingle-belled out.  Even through all the rather silly insanely stupid controversy over “Baby It’s Cold Outside” I sing (and dance myself silly) whenever, wherever I can.

The year is quickly drawing to a close and as some folks have noted, it’s been not altogether blissful, but more of a Topsy-turvy, roller-coaster kind of a ride.  I’ve no idea what 2019 will bring and honestly, I’m not even thinking of it… much.  A marked departure from my usual process.

I’m simply enjoying the here and now..the comfort and joy and, yes, even tear-filled moments…

…like holding my children’s first Christmas ornaments close to my heart before gingerly hanging them on the tree…

…or handing a $20 bill to a homeless guy in a wheelchair: “God bless you,” he said.  “No…God bless you,” I replied.

There has been Pizzelle making with my nephew as well as our first Christmas shopping experience together–sans his parents….

…and watching Rocket-man string up lights outside and marveling together, his hand warming mine, how beautiful and festive everything looks in our neighborhood.

…And, like this morning, impromptu coffee dates with my sister.  Even beaver sightings during daily walks in the woods with The Poodle– hands freezing and cheeks too…I’m treasuring every moment, uncharacteristically full of hope and wonder for the season, and all the seasons to come… willing my spirits high even when a less than blissful memory threatens to break the spell of it all.

Though we have yet to bake sheets of cookies (it’s on the list this week) perhaps best of all has been Hallmark Christmas Movies with my Poodle-Love snoozing on my lap.  Judge not peeps;  I’ll happily admit to this indulgence.  Though formulaic and fantastical, it’s a wholesome escape from the insanity of headline news.

So, before the rest of the week gets away from me…and I trust that it will…let me take this moment to wish you and yours days upon days filled with comfort and endless joy.

Oh, and one more thing….spread your bliss whenever and wherever you can! 

 

This ornament is 32 years old.
Merry Christmas 

Two Peeved Peeps

Me and my shadow

 

 

He’s getting mighty cantankerous in his senior years….stubborn too. I’ve called him some ten times already; still he refuses to budge. It’s not his hearing that is the problem. I could whisper one word…cheese…and he’d shoot down the stairs like a missile.

No, it’s not hubby that I speak of though his stubborn streak is long and deep.  I’m talking of The Poodle, of course.

With leash in hand I stomp up the stairs miffed that I even must. 

The Poodle, comfy in hismy…study chair is aware that I am none too pleased.  I stand before him with the look. 

“Come on old man…let’s go.  I’ve got things to do and places to go.”

He complies but ever so reluctantly.  He’s almost sloth-like as we make our way down the stairs.   But then, as I reach for his smart winter coat that is in a pretty wicker basket by the front door his energy picks up—he practically runs in the opposite direction.

Rocket-man howls with laughter.  Me?  I’m peeved.

“You think this is funny?” I say in exasperation as I go in search of The Poodle.  “I really don’t have time for this.”

“Yo…Brando….get over here,” I all but bellow.  Clearly, I am not in the mood for games this morning.  I suppose it’s the stress of the season.  My house looks like a bomb went off.  I’ve got boxes of Christmas decor all over the living room.  I’m behind in everything–from laundry to Italian, and a list a mile long of stuff to do…. which makes no sense at all since I’m not a working gal.   How is it I got more stuff accomplished when I worked full-time, took care of kids, went to school and trained for marathons?

Sigh.

Finally The Poodle inches his way back to the front door. 

I sit on the floor and coax him into my lap.  Looking into his eyes I whisper, I love you as I caress his head and torso.   Then I begin putting on his coat.  With his tail down between his legs he looks awfully pathetic….like he is being punished for some far-flung reason.

I’m practically gushing with “good boy” praises as he lets me arrange his coat on properly. 

“Good boy….you’re such a good boy!   I know you are not fond of this coat but you do look so very handsome in it.”

His look tells me he is not at all convinced by my words….of course he isn’t!  “Look…It’s 27 degrees outside–and it’s very windy–so it’s gonna feel like it’s 19.  Besides, you’ve got a hitch in your giddy-up with arthritis….and well….it’s a Pendleton coat for goodness sake.  How can you not like it?”

If he could talk I’m sure he say:  I much prefer my own coat, thank you very much.

We make our way out the door and into the woods.  It’s a beautiful day–just freaking cold.  Round this bend and that our walk in the woods is quiet and lovely….until I see a woman walking her two Scottish terriers coming towards us.  Her pups are dressed in Argyle sweaters, one pink and one blue.  Both dogs are all snarls and snaps. It is their usual demeanor every single morning as we pass them during our walk.  The Poodle always ignores them as if to say “What atrocious manners you two have.”

Except for this morning.  My boy snarls right back.  If fact he’s barking and pulling as if he wants a piece of them!  Whoa! What gives?!

“Leave it!” I say as I pull him close to my side.  “Easy boy….easy.”

Not five minutes later he does the same thing with another dog–a chocolate lab.  Normally my boy is as easy-going as a Sunday morning. 

When we are out of ear shot range I stop and order my boy to sit.  He complies immediately.

“What’s with you this morning?” I ask gently as I rub his snout.  It’s not like you to be in such a pissy mood.”

If he could talk he’d probably say: You weren’t too chipper this morning either mom….like you humans, we have our bad days too.  Now take off this damn coat….

As we head back home I take in, once more, the delicious quiet of the morning.  Yes, my Poodle-love…we were two peeved peeps this morning.  And really, there was no good reason for mine! There are far more pressing matters happening all over the world to get one’s tinsel in a tangle over.   Let’s go home and make things right: it’s off with the coat and a treat for you and Christmas singing whilst trimming the tree for me.

There is bliss in that.

I’d much prefer my own, stylin’ black coat, thank you very much!

Ten But Minus One….

The Poodle at Six

Kind reader, life has gotten away from me.  It’s November already! Seriously?  Where has the time gone?  The thought of Christmas around the corner boggles my mind.  Though I have no pressing agendas or a timetable that I’m subject to, I’m behind in everything, including penning a few words in this here space, at least on a weekly basis. 

Sigh.  Can you hear my groan?  There are not enough hours in a day.

So yesterday was my poodle-love’s tenth birthday. My heart swells still at the memory of that brisk February day in Oregon, well outside of Portland, in the country.  We drove up quite a hill to the modest home that sat on  acreage more than ample enough to allow puppies to thrive and run to their hearts content.  

It seems like yesterday when we first laid eyes on what was then a small bundle of black fluff. I had walked out on a large wood deck and this fellow came running out of the blue, planting himself down right between my legs.  That was it; my head and heart were seized by somersaults of  overwhelming love though I pretended to hem and haw for more than an hour as we watched how the little fellow got along with other pups and such.  Rocket-man had to agree to the new addition of course…and therein was the potential hiccup in my decade-old quest to add the pitter-patter of four paws to the house. Truth be told, initially he wasn’t all that keen on the idea.  In fact he was such a hard sell that it took me nearly ten years to merely warm him up to the idea.  At times I was ever so subtle in my approach.  We’d be out for an evening stroll and I’d make it my secret mission to stop and talk to at least one dog-walker.  Of course I’d be overly-effusive at times in an effort to engage Rocket-man, as in for example: “how brilliant that your dog fetches the paper for you every morning! That’s what we need too, don’t you think?”    At other times I could be more direct…like parking the grocery cart in the pet food isle, vocally sharing the ingredients of a particular brand that I intended to purchase for my make-believe pup, all to rocket-man eye-rolls and a shake of  his head with an emphatic “No!”

Ah, but rocket-man was captivated too on that February day that would bring further internet searches to a halt.  I had found my poodle-love–or rather, he had found me.  As for my husband: he will claim that it was the sparkle in my eyes that did him in.  I submit that he too fell in love at first sight with the ball of fluff that chose me…us.

So as I sit here an type at my desk my shadow–as I often call him– sits on top of my feet slumbering away.  He’s recovering from the trauma of a dental cleaning at the vet’s just last week.  In fact, I am sort-of recovering too…from an unexpected jolt over it all.  The vet called to advise that three teeth needed to be pulled. 

I did not see that coming. 

Okay….perhaps my head was stuck in the sand on this one.  I will admit to a little voice nagging about a certain someone’s recent bout of bad breath…

“Oh, wow,” I cried in disbelief.  “He’s had stellar checkups in the past!”

“There are a number of factors that could account for this,” the doctor said in her soothing, undeniably British voice.  “Age is certainly one factor but also he hasn’t been getting his teeth cleaned consistently and thoroughly enough.”  She noted that I’d recorded his last cleaning a little over two years ago.  Before that, my boy had had three cleanings while we lived in Southern California but those were done anesthesia-free.  I thought I was being a “good” dog-parent by not subjecting my pooch to an IV and drugs.  What I realize now is that it meant that he could not possibly receive a thorough cleaning because he was not put under for the procedure. 

After going over the options with the doctor we settled on pulling one tooth, the worst of the three that was nearly falling out due to bone loss at the site.  “We may be able buy some time for the other two; but let’s be quite vigilent about it,” said the vet.   

“I feel terrible,” I tell her.  “I’m guilty of being lazy about tooth-brushing.  I honestly tried to do it daily for awhile but life got in the way…with my mother…family stuff…moving…Lord, the list could go on!  All excuses nonetheless.” 

“Don’t beat yourself up over this,” were her kind words.  “It’s not easy for most pet-parents…sometimes it’s all we can do to brush and floss our own teeth!  And really, his health is otherwise excellent and overall, the rest of his teeth are in good shape, with minimal tartar and plaque build-up.  The important thing is that you are taking care of this severely wobbly one now which will prevent more health complications in the future if you do nothing.”

$600 dollars later….(yes, indeed that was head-popping)…. I thanked the veterinarian with certain promise that my boy would be on the schedule for a dental cleaning next October.  While he slept in his bed, fortified with antibiotics, exhausted no doubt from the stress of the day, I high-tailed it to Petsmart in search of liquid tartar remover, Greenies dental treats and canine toothpaste.  As I stood looking at all the dental-related choices I was amazed by how much the canine/feline dental products mirrors those that we “uprights” use daily.  Some would argue the canine/feline dental industry is nothing short of a scam…an unnecessary, even fabricated excuse to drain the pocketbook.  After all, as a general rule, for eons, dogs and cats in the wild didn’t go for dental cleanings.  My vet pointed out that our four-legged loves aren’t foraging for food in the wild.  They are not, for the most part, tearing meat from bones or sharpening their teeth on twigs and branches. And, they also don’t live long enough to outlive their teeth.  Our fur-babies snuggle in our laps or slumber in comfy pet beds after eating kibble or canned soft mush.   Baring unforeseen health circumstances, our pets live years longer than their close counterparts in the wild. 

So the consequences of mediocre dental hygiene are essentially no different  between us and our four-legged loves.  Just as we take our own precautions against gum disease by regular flossing, cleanings, and good dental hygiene habits, essentially the same applies to our beloved cats and dogs. Obviously, we cannot floss our dog’s teeth to prevent canine periodontis (inflammation and infection from bacteria in the mouth), but we can pay attention to our pet’s teeth with daily brushing or at least a yearly thorough dental cleaning.   Without proper care, even mildly inflamed gums can progress to full-on painful gingivitis. From there it leads to where my pooch is today…resting in his bed minus an incisor with two other teeth in peril.   Furthermore, doing nothing would exponentially increase the likelihood of developing heart disease as a constant attack of bacteria from the inflammation in the mouth would find it’s way into the blood stream…the sticky plaque substance adhering to arteries surrounding the heart, threatening other organs as well.  Not much different from us bipeds if you think about it!

I look down at The Poodle who is still sleeping on top of my feet.  “Ten years and minus a tooth,” I whisper to him.   His left ear twitches at the sound of my voice.  My heart swells.   His presence fills me with peace.  The world is right as rain when my shadow is with me.  I know our days together are numbered, in every sense of the word.  That’s the way it is of course, the natural order of things.  Impermanence.   But for now I try not to think of rainbow bridges.  I just want my birthday boy to be with me–as healthy as possible–for as long as the fates allow.

Feeling the bliss on a chilly, wet, and overall dreary November day. 

Now, get out and vote if you haven’t already!

Breath strips….really?!! My luck I’d mistake them for my own Listerine strips!
I love you “mom” but seriously…let’s get this over with so I can take this ridiculous coat off!

Sinfully Sloth-full

Is it any wonder why Sloths always seem to be smiling?

It’s that time of year again where–for this gal–there is a short window of pure enjoyment of being outdoors.  I’ve inserted that qualifier (short window) on purpose of course. It’s what comes next that often makes me lose sight of being in the present moment; I am already gritting my teeth in anticipation of the derrière-freezing, frost-bound cold hands, of winter.

But for now, dear reader, I pledge my focus on the many delights of autumn as well as the promise of warm pumpkin bread, steaming hot cappuccinos and the luxury of slipping my feet (beaten up from years of long distance running) into UGG’s®.

I know. There is a certain camp of folks who opine mightily on the subject of Ugg-wear: As in, Ugg’s are ugly. These are the same folks, I believe, who have a particular disdain for Birkenstocks and Crocs too. Oh sure, I’d love to pull on a pair of fashionable European leather boots with fancy buckles and just the right heel that mold to my feet in perfect comfort, but that has yet to happen (the perfect comfort part, that is.). As you can surmise…I’ve thrown in that towel…

My Ugg’s, standing at the ready….

So who knew that today is International Sloth Day?!  I’d never have known such a fascinating tidbit of information if not for Alexa.  If you don’t believe me check out the following link: https://www.daysoftheyear.com/days/international-sloth-day.  Apparently the holiday was drummed up in 2010 as a way of bringing much needed attention to the animal which appears to be in danger of extinction.

Though it took quite some time today for the sun to break through gray clouds (perhaps She was feeling sloth-full as well?) I felt it was my duty to comply with Alexa’s order of the day:  “…so go ahead, slow down and relax.”  And, reading just a bit about International Sloth Day I could only chuckle over the validity of learning from animals…other than the human-kind, of course.  The Poodle, for one, has opened my heart ten-fold more in the nearly ten years he has been with us.

What bliss it was this afternoon then as I slid bare feet into Ugg”s and spent a few sinfully sloth-full hours after yard work out on the screened-in porch reading, enjoying cups of coffee, and generally thinking about–and doing–absolutely nothing.

So, take notice dear reader to consider an excerpt from the International Sloth Day page.  It is sage health advice (nothing of course that you have not heard before):

Excerpt from International Sloth Day page: 

“….Make sure you get enough sleep, take a walk through the park or a long bubble bath, make a real dinner instead of just popping some frozen lump of food in the microwave for 3 minutes. We humans should realize that although we may be the most intelligent of the species, that does not mean there aren’t things we can’t learn from other species. And who could possibly teach a better lesson about how to relax than the sloth? Exactly!”….

They are not lazy, nor stupid....They are creatures who are remarkably tender with each other and they know how to "just hang."
Remarkably tender creatures who know how to “just hang.”

I’m thinking perhaps we should all adhere to a new October 20th tradition and enjoy being sinfully sloth-full, if only for an hour.  Mark your calendars now for 2019!

Feeling deliciously sloth-full on this fine October evening.


‘Shroom Boom

With a late afternoon coffee in hand I’m staring out the window assessing the view.  Unfortunately, it is not altogether pleasing.  In fact, it is borderline abysmal.  I’ve never had such a terrible looking yard. At present, It’s basically a mud pit… well, a mud pit with weeds.  It’s been wrecked by many weeks of rain and although we’ve enjoyed a full eight days of warm, sunny weather we still haven’t dried out. We’ve had our front lawn sodded twice in the year we have lived here and both times the grass has perished. I think of Hurricane Michael and its aftermath on Florida’s panhandle and realize that our struggles to address all the drainage issues are mighty inconsequential of what’s happening there.

Still, early this morning, in jest, I tell my neighbor, Sayed, who lives at the top of our pipe-stem on the main street, that I’m considering getting pigs.  His look is quizzical, of course.

I explain:  “My yard is nothing but mud now. What fragile grass I had has been drowned out…and yet those blasted weeds have flourished.  So now, I’ve got nothing but mud and you know how pigs like to roll around in mud.” 

“Ah!” he says with a chuckle.   He gets it.

His yard has plenty of grass and while he does not have drainage issues he notes something has changed in his yard.  Hmm.  He is pondering.  Yes, he has weeds…but…he can’t quite nail it.  I don’t judge; he is a busy father and husband. 

However, it dawns on me this morning what it is.

Over the course of more than several morning walks with The Poodle I note a strange phenomena….something I haven’t seen in all the years I have lived in Northern Virginia…

Multitudes of mushrooms. Large and small, weird and wild….colorful and mud-colored drab….we seem to have it all.

These snake-like 'shrooms have popped up in various places in the neighborhood.

A Snake – like mushroom brightens up a flower bed…

A psychedelic mushroom stands alone in a patch of muck.

While a psychedelic mushroom, a tiny little thing, stands proud in a field of muck….

And, barely off the beaten path from our walking path, a veritable mushroom city.  I’m in awe because it wasn’t there just a few days ago.

A mushroom city....

Then there is the grotesque, fuzzy variety growing in the middle of the sidewalk that at first glance I mistook for vomit….

Honestly, I thought it was vomit.....

…Not to mention one that looks like a UFO from a galaxy far, far away….

As these surely inedible and likely poisonous  ‘shrooms take over the neighborhood I can only think of those varieties that make my mouth water in lovely anticipation of the deliciousness they assure.  I’ve got risotto ai  funghi (risotto with porcini mushrooms) on my brain….along with stuffed Portobello mushrooms oozing with mozzarella and freshly grated Parmesan cheese or …how about button mushrooms sauteed in Plugra butter, wine, with plenty of chopped garlic and fresh parsley.

Is your mouth watering yet?  Mine is.

There is only one thing to do now, as if you didn’t know kind reader….

It’s off to the store for the edible variety of mushrooms…and wine of course.

A mouthful of bliss is surely on the menu tonight.



One Less Set of Eyes…

The day started in the usual way which is to say, as of late, I’ve had to practically do cartwheels to get The Poodle out the door for his early morning walk. Begrudgingly, he finally gets with the program, as it were, and we’re off up the street, around the block and into the woods.

Luckily we have been missed by Hurricane Florence but we’re experiencing some scant peripheral effects as it is a particularly gloomy day.   We’re due for rain but we’ve not seen more than a few drops, so far that is.  Still, the sky could not be any grayer.  As I listen to a Hearts of Space playlist I’m all to keenly aware of how the music and the somber sky are messing with my soul. I need some pep in my step so I switch to Spotify and decide on something more energizing.  On cue, The Poodle begins to pick up his pace too, although it’s because of a nearby squirrel sighting.

My mind wanders over this and that as we continue down the path. About a mile into our walk I say to The Poodle, as I often do, “We’re almost there so let’s stop for a brief moment to say hello, shall we?”

‘Round this bend….up and over breaks in the macadam path due to gnarly tree roots….then around another bend to the right…..

Wait a minute….

I stop in the middle of the path in a moment of utter confusion.

Was I so into my head that I missed her?

“Let’s turn around,” I say to The Poodle.  We backtrack only three steps. I look right, left…all around me.

Something definitely is not right here.

I turn back in the direction of my purpose.

And then it hits me like a two by four….

I am in the right place… but she is not!

OH NO! This can’t be! I literally cried out aloud. The Poodle looks at me with questioning, clouded eyes.

Drusilla the wood nymph–the name I gave to her– is gone!  I hadn’t taken this route for a while because the mosquitoes were such an annoyance…and now, it seems that she has disappeared! 

I cannot believe that my “eyes and ears in the woods” is gone. 

I stand at the spot where she was once proudly rooted, searching for an explanation.  And then I see her.  She had to have taken her last breath weeks ago during one of the pounding rains.  She’s lifeless indeed, broken almost beyond recognition, split into three or four chunks and covered with a  tangle of debris.  The heavy rains from some weeks ago have drowned the life out of her, washing her away from the sentry post she held for years down into the shallow ravine that was now to be her final resting place.

I stand above the spot where she fell lamenting the loss long enough for The Poodle to decide that he may as well lie down and rest his weary bones.

Dear readers you must think I’m bonkers.  Perhaps so.  But truly, seeing Drusilla the wood nymph on my morning walks for years when visiting my sister and now for a year living in her neighborhood has been a lovely ritual.  Nearly every morning I’d share a moment with her, stopping as close to her base as possible given the terrain to tell her a thought that I held in my heart…then I’d move on to the rest of my day.  It was a curiously magical, divine start to my day.

Yes, you know it…I shed a tear or two.  I will miss her wonky head and her almost sad, asymmetrical face.  I will miss the simple act of saying “Good Morning Drusilla.” My morning walks won’t feel quite the same now that she is gone.

I suppose it just speaks to the impermanence of Every. Little. Thing.

In the words of french novelist Gustave Flaubert:

“The principle thing in this world is to keep one’s soul aloft.”

Through some difficult months a walk in the woods and a Drusilla sighting  was responsible for doing just that.

There was bliss in that.

 

 

Drusilla, the wood nymph.  Eyes and ears of these woods!

Chilled…Not Chilled

I’m staring at the glass before me which contains a splash of a lovely, buttery Chardonnay.  What I’m about to do will make any decent oenophile gasp in horror.I add ice cubes.Lest you judge dear reader I’ve got reason as you’ll see….or not.

So, I’ve had a first world problem for over a week now (eight days and ten hours to be exact).  The refrigerator, a lovely gleaming Kitchen Aid purchased new one year ago…went on the fritz.  Specifically, only part of it died.  It was a curiously slow decline that I witnessed;  over the course of two weeks I noted that the refrigerator was not cooling items very well but the freezer was behaving perfectly fine.

That’s strange. How could this be? 

I checked the settings.  I even lowered the temperature by two degrees.  Nothing.  Well, actually there was something; I was beginning to throw away food at an alarming rate due to spoilage.Well isn’t this just peachy? Not.I dug through my files to find the receipt.

#$%! Seriously?!

Yep.  You guessed it.  We are less than a week past the warranty coverage.  As happens often in my world…what rotten luck.

Grrr.   A one year warranty for a $3200 refrigerator!?   Over coffee, I gripe to my sis about this.  She points out that’s why they try to rope you into purchasing pricey extended warranty coverage.  In all my years of purchasing new refrigerators I never purchased extended warranties. Refrigerators were built to last a long time.  Our fridge in my childhood years is likely still running, albeit terribly out of fashion in it’s avocado dress.

Harumpf.

I call the place where I purchased the refrigerator and they are sympathetic.  They urge me to contact Kitchen Aid to complain about a one year warranty saying that if enough people do so perhaps the company will do something about it.  They also give me the name of the service repair company they refer their customers to.  I’m of the temperament to complain later.  In need of a refrigerator, like yesterday, my energies need to go into getting the problem fixed.  So I look up the referral and the company appears to have good ratings.  I call to have it serviced, which in itself makes me want to spit bullets because, again….the refrigerator is just a year old!  But I grit teeth and breathe through the impulse to be angry.  There are so many less fortunate than me.

The response is not as swift as I would have liked it to be.  It takes two days for a serviceman to come out but I’ve got the luxury of storing items in my sisters’ basement refrigerator.  It doesn’t take long for the repairman to diagnose the problem.  I spit even more bullets when it was determined that the freezer door apparently was not being closed appropriately on enough occasions that it caused the refrigerator fan to fail.  I rack my brains for all of a minute and realize that this problem can be traced back to a certain man-child who had the freezer stuffed to the gills with his junk food for ten months.

I excuse myself to my study for a moment.  I need the time to give my Dammit Doll a good three whacks on my desk.  Ah…better. I’m feeling mighty proud that I didn’t utter one expletive.  And yes, it hasn’t escaped me that for six weeks we didn’t have a functioning kitchen due to the renovation but we did have a working refrigerator! Now the opposite has occurred! How upside-down is that?

The repairman orders a new fan part which may be around $400 and he says we should have it in a week, tops.  “Great,” I say with all the calm I can muster.  The service rep smiles when I tell him: “I’ll chill.  We can go with the flow for one week; it’s just a minor inconvenience in the big scheme of things.” Right?

Hmm.  Maybe I’d lose a pound or two without trips to the fridge for cheese…

So here we are today, a week later.  The repairman is back with the new part in hand. I’m practically busting with excitement that within the hour I’ll have a working refrigerator again.  I’m itching to fill the bins with salad greens and vegetables and of course eggs, butter, cheese, milk and yogurt.  There’s a couple of bottles of prosecco and a bottle of Chardonnay too, not to mention Rocket-man will have his beer back in the fridge and not in a cooler on the kitchen floor.

As I type these words I am mindful that my inconvenience is trivial compared to so many.   Hundreds of thousands of folks in North Carolina are without power as the continue to be pummeled by Hurricane Florence.  Relief washes over me knowing that my elderly aunt and uncle have evacuated Roanoke Island in the Outer Banks to a safer location.  We are lucky that it seems our area will be spared Flo’s wrath.So I’m chilled (sort-of) with the refrigerator repairman–in spite of the fact that he arrived just barely within the service window of between 1-4 p.m.  I’m chilled (sort-of) that he has been downstairs working on the repair for two hours now.

Good grief!  How long does it take to install a refrigerator fan?!

Meanwhile, The Poodle figures it’s his earnest duty to bark…a lot…which of course is doing nothing to keep SHE WHO LOVES and FEEDS HIM calm after a week of hit or miss meals because of not having a refrigerator!Ah…here we go folks!  I hear the repair dude calling from the kitchen below.  I practically dance down the stairs with checkbook in hand ready to pay and then make a mad dash to the grocery store.

Oh…wait dear reader.  I’ve got an update!

Wait for it…wait for it….WAIT FOR IT…Drum roll…..THE WRONG PART WAS ORDERED! 

“Sorry ma’am, but it looks like It’ll be another week before the correct part comes in.Son of a…biscuit.

I’m pretty sure I looked at him with blood-laced daggers in my eyes.  In fact, I noted he winced as he said “I’m sorry” for the third time.A purple minion moment is entirely justified here.  Just saying.So pardon me while I go do just that… Purple Minion Moment: I am not chilled.

Not chilled.

As soon as the repairman was out the door I call and leave an after-hours message for the appliance repair company telling them in measured restraint that I AM NOT CHILLED.

Fortunately, I’ve got chicken stored in my sister’s refrigerator.  That, along with tomatoes, rice, onions, olive oil and garlic means there is hope for a home cooked meal on the table this evening.  And there’s plenty of pasta in the pantry with all sorts of possibilities that don’t require a stocked refrigerator.  Indeed.  What on earth am I carping on about.  We can get through another week.

There is bliss in that.