It’s been said that God has an odd sense of humor, assuming you believe in such things to begin with. Whether God has time for such things as my day to day life, is best left for theologians or crackpots to deduce. I’m of the opinion that within the universe there are sprites and their ilk whose only mission is to make our lives more…interesting.
As an example, I offer the following illumination to consider:
One day, the range died. The big thing in the kitchen that cooks and bakes and in the old days also heated the house. But not in an in the middle of the night sort of affair where you wake up and find that bacon and eggs will not be on today’s breakfast menu. No, a more insidious event occured.
Picture if you will…
Evening. Three burners blazing, I think—I don’t remember exactly in all the excitement—and the oven on broil. A thick juicy steak, fingerling potatoes, onion relish, mixed vegetables, and bread awaited our already salivating taste buds. A glass of Merlot in hand, we anticipated our evening of culinary delights.
It was during this time that an odd pop or thud emanated from the range. I was not personally present, though mere feets away, being preoccupied by a baseball game. My better half alerted me to the possibility that our glorious evening meal was in dire straits. With cunning skill, I made my way to the range. Using years of experience in the troubleshooting and repair of many a mechanical device, I announced that the range was not working.
“Isn’t that what I just told you?” my better half inquired.
“Indeed,” was my pithy rejoinder.
“Well?” she continued.
“I’m thinking; I’m thinking,” I said, mostly so she’d stop asking me questions.
As in all forms of deduction, I turned knobs, pushed buttons, and rubbed my chinny-chin-chin. But to not positive effect.
The range was on its last legs, sputtering ignobly in a thrashing herky-jerky death knell. (I feel this is a more thrilling description that broke.)
Gloom descended, for our meal was not finished, not ready for conspicuous consumption. Was our fine evening doomed to utter despair? Were we left with only the half cooked, half finished, half prepared detritus of our hopes? Were we destined to suffer the indignity of having to eat leftover mac and cheese?
Fortunately, our kitchen appliances have been courteous enough to break individually rather than in concert and we still had the microwave and the toaster oven. With steely determination, we made the best of a bad situation and any number of other cliches. In the end, we enjoyed our dinner, though maybe not in the manner in which we had expected.
The next day we marshalled our energies and went out into the world to procure a new range. As with all things modern, we were quickly overwhelmed with options with one exception.
Nothing’s available till August.
©2021 David WIlliam Pearce