It'll be a COLD day in . . . . here.

      
I've written at Small Works before about two of the 
biggest exercises in self-loathing that I know of -- 

having a garage sale, and moving your studio.  Both of these involved having to come to terms with the sheer volume of STUFF accumulated while you weren't really paying attention.

But both of these may be eclipsed by yesterday's activity, which involved not only cleaning out the refrigerator (see also: expired salad dressings) but more importantly -- 
cleaning behind and under it. 

Raise your hand if you have done this job 

within the past month:

Within the past year?

Decade?

(It's a good thing I can't see you because I can delude myself into thinking that you're all sitting on your hands right now.  I don't know if I could bear the aloneness of staring out over a sea of raised ones.)

I maintain that there are two kinds of people in the world, those who pull out their fridges to clean regularly and those who don't.  The answer to which side of the fence I reside on may best be gleaned from the question Russ asked when I said I needed to clean there:  

"You can pull them out?"

Although I commemorate important occasions by doing so (i.e. weddings, moving)
I must admit that it's not a chore on my regular to-do list, nor do I lose sleep about what might be gathering under the fridge due to my ongoing neglect.

And I should.  

Because nightmares 

are made of such stuff.

Let's just say I threw away 2 (two) cleaning sponges after the chore was finished.
Washing them just wasn't gonna' cut it.

The only good thing I can say is that it was worth it 

for the lovely new appliances 

that will be arriving at my home later today!

 

And I've earned them, people.  When we moved here,
I left my lovely new appliances in Florida,
getting instead old appliances of unknown origin
that the folks who sold us this house left in place
of the newer ones they took to their new home.
That was over 9 years ago. 
At the time, I assumed the fridge was on its
last legs and we'd just replace it when it died.

 

Call me heartless, but I finally got tired of 

living in a kitchen hospice and decided to pull the plug.

I don't specifically know 
what the 29th anniversary is supposed to be --

I know it's not gold or silver -- so I think "appliances" is the perfect gift. 

And I'm sure (oh, sure!) the shame I endured in the kitchen last night will at last force me

to change my ways and begin cleaning under my fridge on a more regular basis. 

Especially since my husband now realizes that you CAN pull them out.

p.s.  My new little embroidery has exceeded my expectations

(which wasn't much of an accomplishment, actually).  

Come back Friday for a peek at the finished product!