Tomorrow at 8.30AM, we end our eight-year hate/hate relationship with our stove.
In 2013, Dad died, so I spent one of the hottest summers living with Mom for five months. (Jury is still out on whether that was the right thing to do, but that's another story.) Ben and I skyped every night, and at the very end of my time away, he said our 1987 oven was acting up. We had been warned parts for the oven were no longer available, so when Ben said something alarming, we decided to replace it. And we did the first weekend after I came back.
I was home alone when a young chap came to install it. He seemed nice, but he had a mouth; he couldn't shut up about the floor not being level, (it is, Ben checked,) and I couldn't wait for him to leave. It turned out the guy bent the right oven door hinge badly. Normally I'd ring the store and get it set right ASAP, but I just couldn't not face the mouth, so I didn't complain. A few years later the thermostat on one hob, and then another, broke so they were either all the way up, or off. We lived with two hobs and an oven door that wouldn't shut, (I got in the habit of putting a chair in front to keep it shut,) for some years, while I asked around for a trustworthy repair person, to no avail.
And then we'll get our second jab in the afternoon.
Day 14+7+10, September 17. 11 new, all Auckland; 1007 in the cluster; 457 active, 550 recovered. (Hey, look at the math!! Look at the math today!!)
I don't. I look horrible in greens, especially lighter ones. But thanks, Library, nice idea. (And I returned my compliment into the pile so someone else can love it. I now wished I cheated and read others; they seemed all unique.)