My husband was recently on the phone with his parents and they were discussing their annual trip to the Florida Panhandle. They are the typical snow birds that descend south every winter spreading their tiny wings to fly out of the freezing cold chicken coop.
I was eavesdropping , I could hear my husband, “You are driving where for a microwave? The same microwave that you had when I was a kid? Let me get this straight – you are taking your microwave with you to get it fixed in Alabama?”
However, I learned many years ago never to breathe a word about his parents appliances or their need to hold onto everything. It was a lesson I learned the hard way!
My mother in law had her eyes on The Kitchen –Aid mixer it was like a red sparkly bike that was calling her name. It was with impulse she purchased a new kitchen-aid and handed her Braun mixer down to me.
It was within that brief time the Braun and I were together we were a happy couple baking until our hearts content from bread to pastries. It was until that one fateful spark that changed everything! My beloved mixer was gone and floated up to the appliance heaven in the sky.
It was weeks later over lunch with the in-laws popped my mother in law asked, “Do you still have the mixer? The kitchen-aid just isnt’ the same.”
I’m already the black sheep, the art student, opinionated women, that stole her golden boy. I could never do right and knew that I was going to have another strike against me the moment I opened my mouth…
“Um! Well no!” I stammered.
“Well it broke.”
My father in law chirped “You what? You threw it out?”
“Yes. It broke.”
They both had stunned looked on their faces waiting for me to finish as if I had just dropped an F-bomb in church.
In my own defense I proclaimed “ It was made in the sixties!”
They both gave me a ghastly look that I had done some great injustice to the world and couldn’t believe I acted without the thought of the consequences it would have on them.
I clarified “Well it was old! And we didn’t know how to fix it…”
It was with that I was given another look.
“Do you still have the bowl?”
I exclaimed out of nervousness, “Yes! I kept the bowl! I love it! It’s wonderful just for day-to-day baking.”
“Can I have it back?”
And it was with that I handed back the bowl never to be trusted with second-hand appliances again.
So as my husband got off the phone he gave me a look and said “Why don’t they just buy a new microwave?”
I looked at my husband with the knowledge of never insulting their appliances, “Honey, it must be the one they love forever. The breeze along the river would say Just let it be.”
How far would you go to rescue your appliances? Would you drive to Alabama to get it fixed?