A Kenmore Moment

What is that smell? An unusual odor roused me from the chair where I sat, laptop-clad, tapping out revisions in a math text. I summoned Victoria and we followed our noses to the kitchen. I determined that the scent was electrical – like wires burning. I sniffed each outlet as well as the telephone, stove, oven, dishwasher, trash compactor (pee-yew!), and refrigerator. I suspected the phone and unplugged it. Hmmm - It did smell like a hot phone. Victoria suspected the refrigerator. Sniff, sniff, sniff. She may be right. I pulled it away from the wall and stared.

My mind wandered to an all too familiar fantasy – wishing Dad were here. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to see Dad? I’d call to tell him about a small crisis and he’d drop by with a tool box to fix it or dispense advice. Dad always knew what to do with things like this.

Click. What was that noise? My reverie was broken, and I refocused on the task at hand – identifying the new and mysterious smells and sounds in my kitchen. The odor seemed to be fainter now and I didn’t hear any more clicks. I shrugged my shoulders, said a quick prayer for safety from electrical wiring mishaps, and returned to my project. From time to time I heard a faint click that reminded me of an oven preheating, but the smell had dissipated.

Early the next morning a “plip” caught me by surprise as I headed out the door. Was something leaking? When I returned from an appointment, and reached into the freezer for a package of ground beef to defrost, my senses were overwhelmed as the clues fell into place. I felt like Monk just before he summarizes, “Here’s what happened…” My freezer compartment was transforming itself into a rainforest.

Click. Obviously the smell was connected to this tragedy and the “plink” was the liquidating of the icemaker’s inventory. Click. Now what? How old was this appliance? What is that click? I thought about Dad again. Click. He could remove the grill, discover the culprit, and announce whether it was worth fixing or whether it was time for a new refrigerator. Click. Sometimes Dad could tell you what was wrong just by what he heard. One the time he told me to replace the CV joints on Bobby’s car while along for a quick trip to the grocery store.

I remember holding the flashlight for Dad as he installed a compressor in the patio freezer. I held the flashlight when he diagnosed and repaired some mysterious thing-a-ma-jig on the seaside green Chevy Impala. I held the flashlight as he removed and installed a garbage disposal and hot water heater. And for all the flashlight holding, none of Dad’s fix-it know how was added to my skill set.

If only I could call Dad. I’ll bet that he could even tell me over the phone that it’s probably this or that based on my description of the problem. But now was not the time for phone calls. Now it was time for action. We hauled all of the meat to the garage freezer and assessed the condition of the refrigerator compartment. It seemed to be cold.

Relieved that all was not lost, I decided to give the situation more thought. Click. No sense rushing. Click. I can do a little research on the Internet and decide whether replacing or repairing makes more sense. Click. I’ll check out the price of a new refrigerator. Click. Maybe I could save money by calling a handyman instead of an appliance dealer. Click.

And this morning I discovered the significance of Click. Click is the death rattle of a refrigerator. When it stops, everything begins to warm up. And suddenly, without warning, I was overwhelmed. I went into my bathroom to cry. I really missed Dad. I can get a new refrigerator, but Dad is irreplaceable. “Pops, I could really use your help right now,” I said out loud to no one in particular. Tears flowed and my mind was blank with grief for several minutes.

And then, as suddenly as it began, I regained my composure and stopped crying. I know that the grief of losing Dad will come and go unexpectedly and last longer than all my appliances. But for right then, I decided to go look at new refrigerators. You see, I’m having a party at my house tomorrow night and I could really use one.