So, Gentle Reader, my refrigerator has just gratefully received its unpredictably-timed bath. I hope it is duly thankful. It’s a job I detest. Why? You didn’t say it out loud, but I heard it in your head.
First, I do NOT enjoy housecleaning of any variety. I do it out of dire necessity. I dislike wondering if the veggies growing on my kitchen floor are radishes or carrots.
Second, housecleaning is futile. You see, even though my refrigerator will smile at me in complete innocence when I go back there in an hour to get supper under way, I know–and IT knows—that in the dark watches of the night when I’m having nightmares about fridgey gremlins, there will be REAL ONES waging a full-scale battle in the deli drawer, the meat drawer, the fruit drawer, and the veggie drawer .Anything not consigned to those drawers will be oozing gunk onto the shelves, laughing hysterically at the effort I went to today.
It was easier before plastic. I remember metal with longing. You took the shelf out, washed the metal racks, cleaned off the doodads that the shelf rested on, and easily slipped it back into place.
Now? Please! Plastic. Plastic and glass, either of which will shatter if you don’t say “Please” and “Thank You!” when you handle them. There are millions of places that oozy gremlins can seep into. When that happens, the whole gizmo has to come apart. Not terrible. But putting it back together? TERRIBLE! AWFUL!
My fridge has a little plastic-coated wire thingy that the produce drawers rest on. Pardon my grammar. I don’t care. If you don’t know what I just did wrong, don’t worry. Be happy.
Anyway, it’s like putting a jigsaw puzzle together while I’m wearing a blindfold. I can’t SEE the wire, and I can’t SEE the part it’s supposed to mate with. It’s an intricate process of easing the drawer down to where you hope the wire is, and when you hear a SNAP! you can let go and do a happy dance.
You need to understand that about ten years ago, I had both my knees replaced. I will be forever thankful for that. The one thing I can’t do, however, is kneel.
I’m now contemplating the bottom of the fridge, before putting the produce drawers back in. There is some serious cleaning that needs to be done. With a sigh, I lower myself semi-gracefully to a sitting position so I don’t have to stand on my head to do this part of the job. The whole time I’m down there, I’m dreading the trip back up. It’s not pretty. Not even close to semi-graceful. When you absolutely cannot tolerate any pressure on your knees, it limits your graceful thing. So first I offer a serious prayer that no one will decide to come into the kitchen while I do what needs to be done. Then I roll onto one hip and brace both hands on the floor. The hip I’m resting on is connected to the leg that will push me up. The other leg gets braced, foot flat on the floor, for balance. Getting the hip-resting foot under me so I can push up is quite a process. But eventually I feel safe enough to heave ho, and up I go. It must be hysterically funny. Not to me. This is serious stuff. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life on the floor.
You know, it’s actually pretty amazing that I can do this gymnastic move. After all, I’m 67; not a lightweight; and once I’m on my way up it’s really a breeze. It’s just getting all the parts under me and balanced that’s tricky.
Anyway, the fridge is clean. Who knows? In another month, once I’ve recovered my normal good humor, I may tackle the oven. (Pssssst. Self-cleaning! Why can’t they figure out how to make a self-cleaning refrigerator?)