By Patti Parish-Kaminski, Publisher
Not really sure what Mr. Kaminski’s problem is. I know lots of folks who have appliances on their porch – and most are relatives.
I have a long-standing hate relationship with household appliances. Now I know you think I’ve made a mistake and left out a word, meaning a love/hate relationship. But I assure you, there is no love in my relationship with appliances.
Mr. Kaminski is in the loop about this negative relationship. He is acutely aware that I will neither purchase nor shop for said appliances. Should we need anything in that category, he knows it falls squarely on his honey do list as I will go forever without procuring an appliance. I will work around it, and have done so extremely effectively for years. If we need a dastardly device, it’s up to him, and after over 30 years, he clearly understands the assignment. Yes, sometimes it takes him a minute.
To this day, I do not own a vacuum cleaner. There would be no need for my housekeeper if I owned one of those dreadful, noisy, sucky things. I value my housekeeper much more than trying to usurp her domain by owning such an awful appliance. That’s just not kind.
For over a year now, we’ve had an unsatisfactory situation with our refrigerator. As I said, I’ve just worked around it, largely by under-utilization. Our fridge was one of those freezer on top things with the fridge portion down under like my Mawmaw used to have. In order to put things in the fridge area, I would have to go low, real low. And the thing about me going low in my fifties is that I can’t really get back high easily. It takes a minute, and it hurts. That’s enough to make me stop a particular activity. I’m a quick study.
The first icebox incident involved Lisa Ann. She was low, real low, procuring a beverage, likely wine. As she was down under, the refrigerator door swung back and hit her in the head, hard. She was not amused and didn’t make a bit of sense for quite a while. Of course, we were forced to consume two glasses of wine to numb the pain.
Mr. Kaminski is not amused, but at least the porch is covered – right?
The next fridge frenzy involved Mr. Kaminski. He was on the ground putting drinks in the fridge. Not participating in the awful activity, I was in the other room and suddenly heard a loud crash. I ran to the kitchen to find Mr. Kaminski deep into the chilly cave up to his waist. Only his backside and legs were sticking out.
Being in a precarious position for quite some time putting drinks in the damnable device, it appeared that his blood flow was compromised. He literally passed out – inside of the refrigerator. My shrieks awakened him. I pulled him out of the bad box and got him to his feet.
“That’s it,” I said. “This dangerous device has nearly taken out two of y’all. I will have no one left to actually put things on ice, and you know I won’t do it. It’s too risky.” Mr. Kaminski went that very day to purchase a new, kinder, gentler, more senior friendly fridge.
“But what will we do with this one?” queried Mr. Kaminski.
“We’ll do what everybody in the South does – put it on the porch,” I quipped. He was not amused; I was dead serious.
I proudly come from a long lineage of porch people, and we put things on our porch. Washing machines, old ice boxes, stand up coolers – you name it, it can effectively live on the porch. The downside is Mr. Kaminski now has to go outside to get ice. He’ll get used to it. After all, it’s a covered porch. See y’all next week – on the porch!
Patti Parish-Kaminski
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