Dearest Sister Martha and Brother Rip,
Remember how you always complain (still and forevermore) that when we were kids I always got the white meat at Sunday’s chicken dinner, because I was the baby? And remember how we played the game of “divide up the goods” after Pops went into the nursing home, and Martha got the house and Rip got the contents of the barn and I got the Butterfly? Well, I want a do-over.
This morning I wandered up the hill to get Mom to walk out for the newspaper and she greeted me with, “We have a problem.” I always feel like the Houston NASA controllers when she says that. I brace myself for the worst.
“My refrigerator stopped working last night,” she said. I just looked at her in dismay as she picked up another wad of soaked newspapers from the floor in front of the refrigerator and started to carry them to the back door.
“You couldn’t have called me last night?” I asked.
“It was 9 o’clock and I didn’t want to risk waking you up,” she said.
“At 9 o’clock you would hardly have risked waking me up. So instead you’ve now destroyed your food.”
Destroying her food was actually a blessing in disguise. Her refrigerator and freezer are the lands of Styrofoam – the final resting place for leftovers from anyone and everyone. Some have been there for years. So although I pretended I was upset at her for losing her food, I was actually delighted. Now she wouldn’t be trying to eat petrified garden burgers.
“Did it ever occur to you to remove the bin of ice, rather than let it melt all night to make this big mess?” I asked, as I started to help her mop up her floor.
She shrugged and said, “No, should I have?”
I just sighed and set about sorting what could be saved (that would be nuts and candy) from what had to be turned into garbage. This was not what I had planned to do before breakfast.
Did you know that the two drawers in the bottom of her refrigerator, the ones that most of us use for what they’re intended (fruits & vegetables, meats & cheese), she had packed full of candy? From Easters and Christmases and Valentines' Days past? I lost count of how many boxes of chocolate-covered pretzels she had stashed in the rest of the refrigerator. I swear the woman would turn into a pretzel (chocolate-covered, of course) if I didn’t force some fruits and vegetables on her once in a while.
We were racing against the clock since she had an early morning appointment at the lab for a fasting blood test (darn good thing she couldn’t eat breakfast since she had no food to eat) and then she was off on her usual Wednesday jaunts, which include a piano lesson, visiting the thrift shops, and scouring the nurseries for good buys.
At one point she said, “You know, I never dreamed I would live to see this happen! I thought for sure you would get stuck cleaning this out by yourself after I died, along with the rest of the mess in the house!”
At least I know when she’s gone I won’t want for chocolate-covered pretzels.
Once we got the refrigerator emptied, I sent her on her way. Her parting words were, “Now you’ll have a story to tell!” I scrubbed all the shelves and drawers. Now the repairman, who is supposed to come this afternoon, will probably tell me she needs a new refrigerator and I’ll be sending a spotless refrigerator off to salvage!
You surely know I’m kidding about wanting a do-over. I wouldn’t trade the Butterfly for the world, even though sometimes she drives me bonkers. I’m sure she hasn’t come close to making up for getting even for all the times I drove her to the brink of insanity during my childhood years. But she is doing her darndest.
Love from your baby sister,
Tammy
