That's Life: Spoiled Election
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My cleaning lady comes tomorrow, and the last time I asked her to wash the shelves of the refrigerator, she did a thorough job. So why not wait, you ask? Read on.
The day after my cleaning lady had left my refrigerator sparkling, I returned home from a swing down Spring Street in Williamstown around 1 o'clock. I was hungry and "in the mood" for a hamburger, so I opened the freezer compartment and removed a hamburger patty. Oops - it felt like Play-Doh - you know, soft and gooey.
It only took a few moments for me to discover that everything in the freezer had turned to mush or liquid, including a half gallon of ice cream, several pounds of meat, bags of vegetables, and dough I had intended to use to bake chocolate chip cookies, which I had wanted to mail to my son in time for his birthday - a tradition that took root 20 years ago when he was a college freshman.
As I looked at all the food that was spoiled, I was confused. What to do first? Try to salvage anything that had not totally defrosted or just check to see if, at least, a slice of deli ham in the refrigerator was good enough to eat for lunch?
When it comes to food, I always chose to be safe rather than sorry, so I ate a jelly sandwich. Perhaps the sugar fix put my brain back into motion, as I knew what I had to do first was find out why the refrigerator was not operating. As I checked the temperature controls, I realized my cleaning lady had shut off the refrigerator and then obviously forgot to put it on when she had finished cleaning it.
Emptying the refrigerator, I filled a couple of 30-gallon garbage bags. After lugging the bags to the dumpster we condo owners use, I drove to the supermarket to buy food.
All in all, I paid a high price for having a clean refrigerator. But, I guess I should have been grateful that the refrigerator started to hum once I turned the dial up to 3.
So far, I have needed to replace two refrigerators since I became a homemaker.
About 20 years ago when we were living in New York City, I thought the water beneath the refrigerator was just left over from when I mopped the floor. But when I walked into the kitchen the next morning and found the water had turned into a pond, I called a repairman who said he would come to my home around 1 o'clock that afternoon.
It was Nov. 4, 1980 - the election day Ronald Reagan and President Jimmy Carter were vying for the big chair in the Oval Office. So I cast my ballot for Jimmy that morning, wanting to be home in the afternoon to wait for the repairman.
The repairman knocked on the front door around 3 o'clock and, after examining the refrigerator, he shook his head. I could almost hear the death knoll tolling for my refrigerator.
"It will cost as much to repair it as to buy a new one," he said.
Neither of my children, then aged 12 and 15, wanted to shop for a refrigerator, which was not surprising. So after dinner, my husband, Bill, and I made ready to go without them.
"They're old enough to stay home alone," Bill said, as I paused at the front door, looking back at my "babies."
I would have preferred staying home, too, not just to be with the children but because I wanted to follow the election results. But, I could not in good conscience shun my duty as a wife and mother to provide edible food for my family.
Well, the children were fine when Bill and I returned from an appliance store in about two hours, but I found the news with which they greeted me distressing: "Ronald Reagan won."
"It's too early for the results to be announced," I protested. I, of course, was wrong, Reagan having trounced Carter in short order. There was no need to recount - or even pretend to recount - votes that year.
If I had been home would the results have been different? No, but at least when Carter's chance to win began to evaporate, I could have screamed at the TV set, "Come on Jimmy, you can do it!" Then, I would had the satisfaction of knowing I had supported him to the bitter end.
<L2>Elections are kind of like horse races - a lot of horses line up at the gate, we bet on one - basing our decision on his/her record, our instinct, or simply on appearance - and then the gate opens and they're off.
As our horse straggles behind in the field, we scream, "Come on, you can do it!" rooting it on. Whether we end up tearing up our tickets or turning them in to collect our winnings, we finish the race hoarse.
The only difference in elections, is that it is the candidates who end up hoarse while the voters end up tired of hearing the usual political rhetoric.
Here and now in my home in Williamstown, the refrigerator is nearly eight years old. I hope it doesn't break down on election day 2008. This time I would rather go hungry than miss rooting the candidate of my choice to victory. Oh, if only it was in my power to do that!
