A word of apology to all my internet friends. I disappeared for a couple of weeks here. It was unintentional, and a result of many different happenings in the real world that couldn’t be helped.
First, my virus definition software expired. Which means my laptop is now officially over a year old! Woot! You’d think I’d have been more aware of that, what with it having been an anniversary gift from my hubby, but I admit it snuck up on me. Being of the paranoid type that never buys anything online, I had to wait for the occasion when I could actually go out and get it, which took a few extra days. And no, I don’t do the internet without anti-virus software; that would be like seeing a prostitute without a condom–just plain stupid!
In the meantime, some interesting happenings around the homestead. We bought this house a little over 2 years ago now. The house is exactly the same age I am, and just like myself is beginning to fall apart. All the appliances are approximately the same age, sooo…
Well, first the washing machine went into its death-throws. It’s not out just yet, but makes outrageous noises so that we know the end is near. Ok…my husband’s family is nothing if not thrifty (read: cheap) so my immediate joke was that someone in the family would have a washer we could have. That’s how we got the amazingly fugly living-room furniture. (It was FREE after all.) Hubby to his credit laughed along with the joke, listing off all the places where such a washer would probably come from. The washer in the basement is from 1995, I think. So my retort was that it would be a 1993 but barely used. And guess who was in the driveway the very next day when I came home? Yep, the father-in-law, with a used washing machine in the back of his truck. This potential disaster has been almost narrowly averted; I say almost because the new/used washer is still sitting in the garage. The laundry room is downstairs. That will take no less than 2 months (or whenever the washer actually dies) to accomplish.
Knowing that the washer is done for, I’m at this point planning on the dryer being the next to die. People generally buy those things in sets. But to my utter surprise and dismay it was not the washer but the REFRIGERATOR that went belly-up.
Which brings me to a psychological problem of mine that I have been wrestling with for many, many years.
When my parents and I moved into the Affluent Suburbs, I was all of three years old. The first few years there were pretty rough, financially speaking. My dad was making enough money for us to afford the Affluent Suburbs, but…well, they weren’t able to sell the trailer home in the Rural Nowhere. So for a while, they were paying two mortgages. That’s enough to destroy even the best fiscal planner. However, my dad was not the best fiscal planner. I actually inherited the fiscal irresponsibility gene from him. As a result, it was no time at all before my parents were knee-deep in debt, and my mom tells me the utilities got turned off a couple of times although I don’t have a recollection of that.
What I do remember is being down to the last can of soup in the pantry. I remember being sent over to a neighbor’s house to borrow pancake syrup because that’s all we had for lunch. We never went hungry, but we lived on that edge for a while.
And that affected me. Psychology plays a large part in what is fashionably referred to as “eating disorders” and I’m no exception to that rule. I PANIC if the larders aren’t over-filled; there are certain things I absolutely have to have in my kitchen at all times. Even in my early twenties, when I wasn’t baking and cooking from scratch nearly as much as I am now, I was buying things like eggs and flour that I actually ended up tossing out because I didn’t use them. But I had to have them. A well-stocked kitchen always has certain things. Period.
Then came The Diagnosis. I was diabetic, which meant that I was supposed to eat certain things. The Diagnosis, of course, occurred on an off-week. Meaning that I had gone grocery-shopping the prior week, and didn’t have any grocery money until the next week. But there were certain things I could eat and if I ate anything else I WAS GOING TO DIE!!! Yeah, I panicked. I’m not proud of that, but it’s true. Hubby again rode to the rescue, coming up with his emergency money for me to get some salad and stuff like that. Again, disaster was averted. My heart rate went down to normal. He must love me or something.
So here we are, with a dysfunctional fridge. And naturally, hubby was leaving for his fishing trip the next day. I was going to be left ALONE without a fridge. Now, to be honest it was still half-working. By that I mean the freezer was worthless; the fridge didn’t work at the top, but the bottom-half seemed to be cooler than the top. Some things, like my precious, life-saving vegetation, was perfectly safe in the refrigerator. Other things, like my yogurt and our milk, were not. Before hubby left, he dug the mini-fridge out of the garage. Between what was left of the fridge & the mini-fridge, I was ok. It was a tight squeeze, and some of the yogurt froze, but I made do. In fact, I was better than ok. I actually was quite proud of myself for not freaking out.
Hubby came home from his fishing trip early. Yeah, he must love me or something. He said that it was like being in a frat house with unshowered men smothered in fishguts. So he’d had enough of this all-male “bliss” and decided to come home and spend his last day off with his wife. YAY hubby!!! Instead of running right out and getting a refrigerator, however…we spent the day in one of those lovely tourist towns about 3 hours away. Had a lovely drive, a lovely lunch, bought some cool books, and a lovely ride home. We selected a new fridge the next night after he got off work, and had it delivered and “installed” on the following Saturday.
By installed, I mean that it’s hooked up. It is, however, sitting not-quite-in the middle of the kitchen. Because it doesn’t fit (although the salesman swore all the fridges were the same size…LIAR!) in the nook that was made for the previous refrigerator. Eventually, hubby wants to “modify” the cabinet around it. (I said remove it, because the cabinets on top of the refrigerator are completely worthless. I really don’t understand why they’re even there. Except that I have some lovely decor on top of them, of course.) It’ll be…oh, six months or so before he even thinks about working on it, and I’ll guarantee that he’ll end up having to take the cabinets down.
In the meantime, I’m being very “zen” about this. I have a fridge. I don’t care if it isn’t flush-to-the-cabinets at this point. It works.
And I feel I’ve had some growth from all of this in managing to keep my food-panic to a minimum. I’m not going to say that being diagnosed as diabetic is a good thing, but I think it’s seriously put food in its place in my life. And that is a good thing.