Crushed Ice Anyone?

We are simple people. I know this because of the excitement a new refrigerator has generated in our house. Oprah could have shown up on our doorstep this week, and we wouldn’t have noticed because we’ve been too busy admiring our Whirlpool wonder. Teen Angel rubbed it like a new diamond when Lowes dropped it off. In seventeen years of marriage we’ve never had a brand spanking new refrigerator. Our old one came with our house when we bought it in 1994, and we squeezed every last drop of life out of it. That’s no exaggeration because we gave it to our neighbor when the new one came, and it failed to start when he plugged it in his garage. We’ve known for weeks she was terminal, but we had no idea she was that close to expiring.

The old Amana was a 1983 model. She was no Cadillac, but she served us well. Even when we remodeled the kitchen in 1996 and bought new appliances we hung on to her. Mostly because that project went over budget, and we needed to cut a corner, but we also felt like she had more life in her. Boy, did she ever. She turned out to be the Miss Jane Pittman of refrigerators, hanging around long after the washing machine and a couple of other old appliances bit the dust. She had no fancy features, and was a little on the small side. We even had to have an icemaker installed in her when we bought her. Over the years she lost her grill at the bottom. She had a few nicks in the door, and the handle had to be screwed back on after one too many yanks. About two years ago the icemaker quit working and we chose not to fix it because we figured the fridge would quit any time anyway. We were wrong, so we’ve been fetching ice from the garage refrigerator for as long as Hillary’s been running for President. Saying goodbye to the old gal (the fridge, not Hillary) was bittersweet. We will miss her sturdy glass shelves and cute little egg holder, but the new Whirlpool has finally brought the Hula’s into the 21st Century, and we’re excited to be there because now we have…ta da!....ice and water in the door.

Yes, we are possibly one of the last families in America to get ice and water in the door. We waited in suspense for four days until the plumber could hook up the water line. He got everything squared away, and we gathered around it yesterday evening oohing and aahing over it like cavemen who had just discovered fire. Of course, it takes about 24 hours to get a basket of ice, so we got excited all over again every time we heard ice drop last night. I checked it first thing this morning, and it was filling up nicely. By the time I get home this evening we should have all the ice we need. Unless that darn Teen Angel has used it all up just watching it work. I can’t wait for an icy glass of water. Hmm. What do you think? Crushed ice or cubed ice? I think I’m going to like this 21st Century stuff. Who knows what’s next. A CD player for Hubby’s old truck?