It took a few days for our refrigerator to convince us it was really breaking down. Actually, it had been clunking along for a couple of years. Every time the compressor would stop, it gave a “ka-clunk” sound. But it still worked.

When it stopped ka-clunking, it wasn’t working so much. It was still cooling, but not enough. After a few ka-clunk-less days, we finally put our food in four or five ice chests in the dining room and waited for our new refrigerator.

The new one came and it was broken. Our food spent more time in the ice chests. The replacement refrigerator came and it worked. Yea! After six hours or so, we started putting our food in.

Well, some of it. After all those days in the warmer-than-usual refrigerator and all those days in ice chests, maybe we didn’t really want to keep all that food.

Ready for the next set of soups.

Out went the leftovers. Out went the eggs, meat and mayonnaise. Out went the mushy (formerly frozen) soup. Out went the jars with last year’s expiration date. (Oops.) It just wasn’t worth getting sick or even the worry about maybe getting sick. Hubby took the rejects to the compost pile and I washed all the containers that we separated from their refrigerator and freezer contents.
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I came home from work the next day — to a normally cooled refrigerator, no less! — and hubby had emptied the dishwasher. And left all these containers on the counter top. Because . . . after 12 1/2 years of living in this house, he “doesn’t know where they go.” I guess he thought they lived in the freezer permanently.

Now, if we were talking about those containers and me, I’d say there were too many to put on the container shelf in our kitchen cabinet and that maybe I’d have to consider making some soup right away (not going to happen) or putting some of the containers in the freezer, empty. But we’re not talking about me, are we now?

(Last refrigerator post. I hope.)