Every Silver Lining Has a Cloud?

Small town life is frequently inconvenient. A few weeks ago, our refrigerator/freezer died. I was not worried, as we have a maintenance agreement. After a call and a small deductible, the appliance gets repaired. Simple, right? Not in Pixley. After a few days, the maintenance agreement company informed us that the authorized repair service center in our area did not respond to their attempts to contact. They would keep looking.

After two weeks without a refrigerator/freezer, My Taller Half and I purchased a mini-fridge. It even has a tiny freezer compartment and a teeny-tiny ice tray. The maintenance agreement company informed us that they finally found another authorized service center who would service a call here. Their first availability was in about three weeks.

Five weeks to repair a refrigerator, simply because there are no repair people nearby — or no authorized repair center nearby. There are people who do repair appliances who do not need help finding business. We could have gone to one of them, but I am stubborn and just a little frugal. I bought a maintenance agreement, and I do not want to spend more.

Okay, we did spend money on a mini-fridge, but if the power goes out, it’s easier to power a mini-fridge with a generator than a full-sized appliance. There is method to our madness. But mainly, I am stubborn. Plus — teeny-tiny ice!

It could be a lot worse. We have transportation. Pixley is the county seat and boasts a variety of fast food restaurants, Walmart, and two or three other grocery stores, so we won’t starve. We can buy a meal’s worth of groceries to cook — the oven still works. We have a small kitchen with no microwave and no dishwasher, so we tend to keep our meals simple on the best of days. 

There are others in Small Town USA whose resources are far more limited. But in those circumstances, at least in towns like Pixley, neighbors pitch in to help. Our sweet next-door neighbor is helping us by taking some meds and a few of the more expensive, longer shelf-life items to store for us.

The reps from the maintenance agreement company were relieved that we are not outraged. We are philosophical. Inconvenience is part of the price of living in not-quite-paradise. We have learned that we cannot expect the same 24/7 service you get in large cities. We do not have 24/7 traffic and sirens, so we are satisfied. In a few weeks, when the refrigerator is fixed, My Taller Half has dibs on the mini-fridge. 

What is an inconvenience to us could be a disaster to another family in less fortunate circumstances. Still, for those who love living in Small Town USA, the silver linings far outweigh the clouds.

An Itty Bitty Biddy Update

A few weeks ago, the family with the hens moved away. I know the husband had a new job that was really good, so I hope they found a bigger place on a quieter road where their little boy and the hens will be safe from traffic. There are new renters in the house now, but we haven’t met them yet. We do miss Betty White and the gang, though. The other neighbor’s Manx, whose name is Little Boy but whom I’ve begun to call Eddie Haskell, still shows up at the door as if to say, “Hello, Mrs. Cleaver. Can Wally and the Beaver come out and play?” The song birds are out in force, and it’s time to start filling the hummingbird feeder again. But there was something very comical and just a little terrifying about the hens storming across the street in search of a snack. They will be missed.

Of Food and Flashlights

My brother sent me a beautiful essay by Celeste Ng.

IN CHINESE FAMILIES, you greet someone by asking if they’ve eaten yet. It is love expressed as concern: Let me take care of you, let me tend to your most basic need. And the response — I’ve eaten already — is an expression of love, too. Don’t worry, Mom, I’m doing fine.

The essay moves on to discuss the violence against Asian-Americans in our country, and it’s moving. But I was struck by the initial paragraph, because I saw this in my own parents. I would visit, they’d send me home with groceries, cereal, soup, whatever. It used to upset me. Do they think I’m irresponsible? Poor? Do they think that there are no stores where I live? It took me a while to catch on that this was their way of saying I love you, not them thinking I was too incompetent to grocery shop.

When My Taller Half and I were just friends, and I would visit, he’d check the air in my tires and offer me bottled water for the trip home. One time, he gave me a flashlight. A nice, fancy flashlight. The next time I visited, he asked me about the flashlight. I had no idea where it was. He grumbled and gave me another flashlight.

Odd. Does the man have a flashlight fetish?

From then on, every time I headed home, he’d ask if I brought my flashlight, and if I said I didn’t know where it was at the moment, he would shake his head and give me another. He gave one to my youngest son, too. He thought it was odd. Neither of us spend a lot of time thinking of flashlights. They are good when you need them but forgettable every other time.

In the days after The Big Storm but before we married, there were many trips to the REALLY BIG CITY seeking Wi-Fi for work. My Taller Half would always check the air in my tires, check the oil, ask me if I need water for the trip. Check to make sure I had a flashlight.

He spent much of his life on the road and having a really good flashlight was literally a lifesaver. He has flashlights that will flash in case the car breaks down in the night. Red flashlights. USB rechargeable flashlights. I still don’t appreciate flashlights the way he does, but along the way, I realized that giving me a flashlight was his way of telling me he cares about me and wants me to be safe.

He really loves a good flashlight. He also loves a good pen. I guess that’s another thing we don’t always appreciate, but when we’re out, if he likes a particular server or salesperson or just some random person he meets and likes, he will give them a really good pen with the little rubber cap still on the tip. He appreciates the beauty of a pen that writes smoothly. He gave one to our wee doc. He’s given one or two to our pastor, whose stole he straightens every Sunday before or after the service. Pastor just smiles. He figured out My Taller Half much faster than I did.

Usually, if I make the long drive to the doctor, he goes with me, but yesterday, he was tired, and I went on my own. As I was heading out the door, he handed me three flashlights. Three. A red one, a flashing one, another one that did who knows what! I almost cried. He was telling me he was worried, to come home safely. He was telling me he loves me.

I frequently say “I love you,” and I mean it. People say that a lot, and they mean different things by it. I’ve started buying him pens. I know what kind of pens he likes, so I will pick up a pack so that he always has some to share. I don’t buy him flashlights. I leave that to him. I still don’t understand the wonders of a good flashlight, but that’s okay. He does.

After reading Celeste Ng’s essay, I fumbled in my backpack for the three flashlights and returned them, tearfully thanking him for caring about me enough to send me out with three flashlights.

Four.

Four?


Yes, I took one from your backpack after you got home.


He then asked me to return the car keys so I fumbled in the backpack some more. I didn’t find the keys, but I did find another flashlight.

Four?

No, five. He grinned.

Five!

Now that’s love!