She died today. The old girl, after 25 years of loyal, faithful service, first to Sweet Tea and her family and then to me as I joined her clan, gave up the ghost. She was a Sharp Carousel microwave oven, and she proudly kept us nourished as only an oven can. She will be sadly missed – until we can get to Wal Mart tonight to adopt one of her kin.
That’s not the sad thing, though. It meant that I had to get my old coffee pot out this morning and boil water. The pot looks almost exactly like the icon over on the right side, and I have had it for more years than I care to think about – or can remember. But that’s not what is sad, either.
What’s sad is that after I put the pot of water on the stove to boil, I fixed myself a cup of instant coffee (Folgers, for you detail oriented types, and it is the only coffee I have at home) by putting the coffee in the cup and turning to the sink and filling the damn thing with water and stirring it while I walked over to the microwave (which was by this time resting in celestial repose in the garage next to the garbage can.) I looked up at the EMPTY space and then at the stove, and well… I’m old, dammit. I can’t be expected to remember everything, now, can I?
I’ll be better tomorrow. But I wonder if Sweet Tea will try to make instant coffee (a metaphor, please) after I am resting in silent repose out next to the garbage can? That’s not so far fetched, folks. Our plans are that we will be cremated and our ashes mixed together with half being poured over the beach on the Gulf and the other half being poured out in the mountains somewhere.
That’s a switch for me, too. Before I met and married Sweet Tea, I wanted my ashes put in a douche bag and run through one last time. But that wouldn’t be right now. So the present plan is in place.
And since I am six years older, a heart attack survivor and have type-two diabetes, chances are pretty good that I will go first. So the ashes will have to be stored someplace. So, I figure that it will be one less thing to dust if I am on the shelf in the garage. Maybe not, but you never know.
Poet Explores Place-finding in her Military Family - In her soon-to-be-published second collection of poetry, titled "Permanent Change of Station," Lisa Stice lovingly interrogates and illuminates life in a ...
51 minutes ago