Dorothy Harris

The big meltdown

"Ouch," I heard from the kitchen. "Are you okay?" I hollered back. Not receiving a reply I headed in. Apparently the noise from the hairdryer had drowned out my concern but not his exclamation. "Things going okay?" I sort of suggested, grabbing a few more corn chips and heading back to the computer when no answer came. He was focused and I wasn't about to break that concentration. With any luck, it would soon yield ice. The fridge chugs along so, with Financial Peace focus, we refuse to replace it until we can either pay cash or it goes dead. It's still chilling, which is good because cash has not magically or otherwise appeared. The ice maker, however, is another story. We, meaning Mr. Harris, have replaced it before. Some may say ice is not a necessity, but they must not live in Florida. Here it is a daily need and sometimes even a form of currency. Remember Hurricanes Charley, Frances and Jeanne? You could trade ice for gasoline. In our new frugal state, we decided ice cube trays would work for a while, but it became one more thing I had to add to my daily routine. As busy and wantonly wasteful of ice as we are, it wasn't working out. Thus, Mr. Harris set out to replace the stupid thing once again, if only to stop me from whining.
About $200 dollars later, my daughter, delighted to find the magic button depositing cubes in her glass, remarked, "He fixed it." "Actually, he filled it," I informed her when the first repair effort didn't yield frozen water. Apparently, it had to cool for 24 hours to begin working. As we waited in expectation, we bought ice and filled the bin once more. The next day, we heard it. That magical sound I bet each of you has completely forgotten about in your working ice-maker lives. The pump had kicked on and we expectantly looked forward to abundant ice once again. It didn't happen. The pump would kick on and try it's hardest but no frozen water. Next, Mr. Harris replaced the water pump thingy. The day he worked on that, we were home and it was a good thing. Let's just say I now know how to shut off the water to the house. It was pretty smart of him to have that valve put in; the man is brilliant. So with a brand spanking new ice maker, new water pump thingy and new tubing, we waited for ice. The dang thing still didn't work and considering how many hours he had invested in trying to get us our luxury of frozen water, his frustration was understandable. A couple of weekends went by and suddenly, he attacked our lack of ice with a vengeance. Using his handy IPhone, he was researching blueprints as I walked through. He had traced his way back behind the ice maker and determined the line was blocked, perhaps with ice, how ironic is that? My hair dryer was being used in an effort to remove the obstruction. I asked how things were going, but receiving no answer, I realized he was seriously focused. Any woman knows better than to mess with that, especially if she's a woman who wants some ice. Then I heard it. Muffled hymns of praise were coming from inside my freezer. I froze, pun intended, and waited to be sure. Sure enough, after many hours of effort and several hundred dollars, he had brought the luxury of ice back to our humble home.