I cleaned the refrigerator a couple of days ago. Imagine that! As I scrubbed it, with my head inside that huge cold machine and my butt in the air, I had this thought:
What idiot said, “If it ain’t fun don’t’ do it?”
If that were true I would never get my refrigerator cleaned.
You know, you are at the cleaning-the-refrigerator stage where all those half-used bottles that are not good enough to keep, but too good to throw away lay like fallen soldiers on the counter top. The produce fainted a few days ago and is still out cold, and opening that cottage cheese container? I was afraid to do it.
Please say you’ve done that for I don’t want to be the only one.
And then I had a second thought.
I love this refrigerator.
Remember, Joyce, when you lived in Hawaii and used an ice chest, because you had no refrigerator? And then the mortgage loan came through, and you bought a refrigerator, but didn’t have enough solar power to run it?
Remember the Hawaiian woman at The Pond’s Restaurant who said, “Living like you are will make you appreciate everything?”
I appreciate my refrigerator.
It came with the house, a perfect fit in the space created for it, and it matches the stove and the dishwasher. Oh yes, I didn’t have a dishwasher in Hawaii either, or an oven.
I am blessed!
I thought of the saying, “You can’t be depressed and in gratitude at the same time.”
I am grateful for my refrigerator.
And now it is clean, and all the labels on the bottles face forward, and it is beautiful. I would stare at it except that having the door open pours out energy. (I once saw a commercial that demonstrated energy loss by filling a refrigerator with ping-pong balls, You can guess what happened when someone opened the door.)
Ah well, I could end my ode to the refrigerator, but I have to say that, after having none, we now have three.
There’s the dear refrigerator in the house, and two in “The Wayback,” our auxiliary building. The owners left their earlier refrigerator there, and we house ours from our previous house.
The universe is laughing.
I finally took a break from “Blogging” for some house cleaning.
Most travel bloggers are young people, singles, newly married, or young families with children. Maybe I ought to let my hair go gray and tout myself as “Gray Fox at Large,” for I haven’t seen one of those, but I’m not going to do it. And I won’t admit that there are any gray hairs under my blond.
I’ll admit I sleep with a Grandpa, but that’s all.
Last weekend, before the blogging and the cleaning frenzy, we took another day trip.
We drove to McMinnville, OR about a two-hour drive from where we live to see the Evergreen Aviation and Space Museum. The Hercules, known as the Spruce Goose, Howard Hughes’ famous “flying boat” is housed there.
Upon approaching tour destination this is what we saw.
“A plane on the roof.”
It is a full-blown commercial jet sitting atop a water park next to the Evergreen Aviation and Space Museum.
The hangar/Museum where The Spruce Goose lives next door where it sits like a cake with flowers around it. Only the cake, the Goose, was wood, and the flowers were airplanes polished to a sheen. Everything was spotless, the planes, the white floor—no wonder I had to come home and clean my house.
Spruce goose with hubby.
We climbed inside that ginormous airplane and ascended a narrow spiral staircase to the cockpit–the service man gave me a peek inside before it closed entrance to it.
Darn, Leonardo DiCaprio, the actor who played Howard Hughes in the movie The Aviator, wasn’t sitting there.
A duplicate of the Wright Brothers’ plane was there, and private planes, and military planes, trainers, and jets.
The Wright Brother’s aeroplane.
How long did it take man to build a contraption that would fly? Now they can throw up a boat the size of a football field, and it will fly.
Next door the Space Museum housed rockets and space capsules, and spacesuits that you wonder how a man could ever maneuver. Those suits alone were an engineering feat, let alone that someone landed on the moon.
“The Wright Brothers flew through a smoke screen of impossibility.” –“Dorthea Brande