How to Get a New Fridge

We’re getting a new refrigerator. (It’s hand-me down, but a really nice hand-me down.) I'm excited. But don't get me wrong, I appreciate the one we currently have—it's a 1950s model and it came with the house when we bought it over seven years ago.

As the realtor walked us through the house, he said, “Well, you’ll have to get a new fridge—this one’s very old and it’s so small it’s not good for much beyond chilling soda.” And because no one has any extra money when they buy a house, we decided to wait for the fridge to die. Only it was made before planned obsolesce. And it’s still running. Of course, the internal lights don’t work. So when you open the door, you can’t really see anything. On the other hand, it’s not that deep. But you do have to move food around in order to see anything.

But I’ve learned to take an odd sort of pride in my fridge. It’s kind of like an antique. And a friend who visited said, “Hmm, if the Kellers with their six adults can live with a fridge like this, I need to stop complaining.” And we could live with it. Sure, stuff sometimes fell onto the floor when we opened the door.  But I discovered that those years of playing Tetris had real life applications—I can pack a fridge like nobody can.

Despite my old fridge love, when I was offered a new fridge, I jumped at the chance. The new fridge is stainless steel and has an ice/water dispenser—we’ll be living the high life. (Though one of the older minions pointed out that we’re getting the new fridge just months before two kids leave for grad school. Too bad.)

This experience has taught me an important lesson. Contentment. Clearly, contentment leads to very cool hand-me-downs. Now I’ve decided that I’m really content with my lawn. The only thing…I don’t think anyone will be giving me hand-me-down-weed-free grass. Oh, well, a girl can hope.

N.B. I finished the first major edit of book three in the Screwing Up Time series. In celebration, I've put Screwing Up Babylon on sale for 99 cents! It will be on sale at Amazon from today through next Friday, April 26.

Okay, our fridge is more modern than this one. But only a decade or two.

Photo by Infrogmation of New Orleans, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

Scrofulous Lawn

Why is it that I can grow flowers, but not grass? I put time, money, and energy into gardening. And my flower gardens look great (except for what the drought killed). My roses, lilies, tulips, etc., all bloom happily. I give the yard just as much attention: roto-tilling, grass seed, water, fertilizers, weed killers, mowing, even hand weeding when necessary. And how does my grass reward me? By growing only in the flower beds.

I have to admit that I take it as a personal affront. If I can convince recalcitrant orchids to come into flower, why can’t I get grass to grow? Is this supposed to be some sort of humbling process to rid me of my green-thumb hubris? If so, I admit it, I can’t get my grass to grow. So, is that good? Will it grow now?

I don’t think so. Here’s the thing that’s even weirder. I’ve been known to dig up a nice patch of green grass growing in my flower beds and transplant it into the yard. I even do it in the spring rain to avoid damaging/drying out the roots. Imagine me slogging through the mud, rain dripping off my baseball cap, digging up tufts of grass and replanting them in the middle of the yard. I consider it a job well done until the next morning. When I go out to check on the plugs of grass, they are shriveled and brown. How does this happen? It was a great mystery to me. Until…

This morning I had a revelation while I was showering (I have all my great thoughts while washing my hair). I know why the grass dies. Last year we had a lush emerald green carpet for two months, and then it one day it was a disaster. Cal and I couldn’t figure out what happened. But now I know. During the middle of the night, lawn care companies looking for new accounts troll the cities spraying Round-up and tossing fungus spores on people’s lawns. Then the next week they come by and spread seeds of nutgrass, crab grass, Devil grass, and the infamous dandelion. A couple of weeks later when your beautiful lawn is now a wasteland of weeds and disease, they leave a flyer on/in your mailbox (which is illegal) advertising their services.

But I’m on to them now. It’s only a matter of time before I catch them in their nefarious schemes. But that would mean staying up late for days—and I need my sleep. Maybe I can be content with a scrofulous yard. Besides I can always blame the lawn care people.