(I found this gem in a journal from January of 1998.)
The door fell off last week. Well, one hinge gave way twisting the other as gravity pullled it to the floor. I couldn’t fix it. Like I had before. With a part, $1.50 from the service story.
It is 23 years old. I got it when I was only 18 along with a matching frig. To help us get a start in life.
I chose the trendy copper color. Flat flower petals arranged in a 70s style next to the clock on the range.
“Continuous cleaning” was an enhancement not true to its name. Black drips and petrified grit coat the oven cave. The top was cracked, soiled, and dark. Many years of frying and boiling left their indelible marks.
The pilot light no longer stayed lit. The seal on the oven door cracked and blistered. But the clock still worked and the timer too.
Alas, it’s time to go. I bid my Kenmore adieu!
How many frozen pizzas? How many roast hens? How many bowls of popcorn? The numbers boggle the mind.
To gently warm a baby bottle. To make a pot of tea. To quick fry a burger for Sam and Ben and me.
Our stove was always loyal. It gave us everything it had. Six kitchens it did live in beginning on Sheridan Ave.