Cate went to get a popsicle as an after-school snack and discovered pools of former frozen treats. Not a good sign. The freezer was blowing warm air, though things in the fridge still seemed cool. We decided to hope that it would be an easy fix.

I wasn’t around when the repair-person showed up, but this is what was recounted to me: he charged $100 to show up, pull out the fridge and diagnose it as unfixable, though if we left it unplugged for a few hours maybe it would “reboot”. I wasn’t optimistic (which is unusual for me), but agreed to try.

In the meantime I had to get rid of all our food. We managed to save some meat by giving it to a neighbour earlier, but otherwise things had already gone bad. Relative to the time our chest freezer died this cleanup was manageable, though it still wasn’t fun. I will confess that I became irritable in the process, frustrated with the overflowing compost bin and the amount of work it took to make the kitchen smell good again.

That “reboot” option? It didn’t work. We have purchased a new fridge that isn’t being delivered until tomorrow. Our old fridge died last Wednesday. That’s over a week to be regularly reminded of how I take having a working fridge for granted. Fortunately a friend loaned us the use of a tiny bar fridge the other day, so we have a bit of milk, some fruit and a place to stash our take-out leftovers.

I keep silently promising myself that I will learn to really appreciate the new fridge. I know so many people who can only dream about having one, or who might even have one, but are without the means to fill it with food. I realize that being able to cook for my family is a large part of home making for me. The creation of “home” happens in a variety of ways, not least of which is around a table full of food. I don’t want to forget this.