Item 24: A Kitchen Range

Arrrrghhhhh. Built-in obsolescence. I wonder if Obama could tackle that.

We bought this range as part of our kitchen remodel in 2005. Our kitchen was truly terrible—tired brown stuff everywhere–everything warped, tired and dirty.  The entire project was a case of  “as long as we are…” project creep.   But that’s another story. As part of the 2005 remodel we bought a shiny new stainless steel kitchen range, along with a refrigerator, dishwasher and range hood. We were so excited to have a bright red floor, nice clean cabinets (thank you Ikea!) and appliances that worked. We especially liked the looks of our stove. It was sleek and shiny and oh-so-cute.

We were so naïve.

You see, we believed that appliances should last. We were, we told the salesman, buying solid products that we knew would hold up. We declined the extended warranty.

Ha!

Within two years the control panel on the range stopped working. It was a slow death. First the timer conked out, and then the temperature control failed. For a while it worked if you whacked the front of the stove just right, but it was hit or miss and you had to whack it hard enough to risk injury. You had to whack it with the palm of your hand, not your fist, not a hammer, not a pan. It helped if you told it that it was a nice stove before you whacked it. Then for a while it worked on Tuesdays if you were wearing green and if you were happy with only baking things at 350 degrees, but that eliminated Brian’s legendary scones which require a solid 450 degree oven. Then one day out of the blue it became fully functional for a month or two and then, just as suddenly started to decline again.

We scoured the internet for solutions. We complained to the manufacturer to no avail, and finally gave in and spent $400 on a new control panel. Still cheaper than a new stove we reasoned.

We were so naïve.

We believed that the same part could not possibly fail again. The first time was just a fluke – bad luck.

Ha!

Yup. About a year the control panel failed again… same scenario only a much faster decline. We kissed another $400 goodbye, reasoning that it was still marginally cheaper than buying a new stove. We were blessed with a year and a half of a fully-functional stove. No whacking, no funny dances to the stove gods, no worries about the oven deserting you when you needed it most–like when you have house full of book club women waiting for baked cod.

Nirvana.

We were beyond naïve.

In the middle of the self-clean cycle (its first, I might add) the stove died. There was nothing slow about this death. No remissions, no rays of hope, no temporary sparks of life in the control panel— like the parrot in the old Monty Python skit, this stove was dead. The control panel was absent of even the tiniest glimmer of light, and the oven door was locked tight—stuck forever in self-clean mode.

We fought a little with the company with no satisfaction. They seemed to think it perfectly normal that the same part would fail THREE TIMES, finally offering us twenty percent off a replacement stove as if that was an offer so gracious that we should shout their praises from on high.

So we bought a new stove from a different manufacturer, and Monday morning Brian stayed home to great the new stove and wave goodbye to the old sorry excuse for a stove.

Our new stove is cute in its own way. It has bright blue lights and a warming drawer. It gives you a status report while it is pre-heating, and it has  a temperature probe.

It also has an extended warranty.

Item 23: An ancient bottle of Shalimar Perfume

I bought this bottle perfume years ago—no decades ago—when I really could not afford it. I doubt It’s really perfume, more like Eau de Cologne or some similar cheap cousin. The description would have read something like “Shalimar by Guerlain is a legendary classic French perfume. Night blooming flowers, vanilla and mysterious musks are perfectly balanced in this sensual perfume that creates instant and lasting intrigue.” Sounds pretty good, and I’m sure at 22 I thought a little intrique would rock my world.

I just loved the smell, and I did find a guilty pleasure in buying something that was financially outside my reach. It felt ever so slightly naughty, and very grown up.

But in reality I’m not a perfume wearing kind of gal, and as time went on I started to know more and more people who are sensitive to chemical smells including perfumes. So I stopped wearing it and banished it to the top shelf of the medicine cabinet. It survived five moves and thirty years and several presidents. It is so old that that the spray pump is kind of rusty and the blue flowers on the case are faded. But it still has a little smell and I happily gave it to a friend who does still wear perfume. It reminds her of a much-loved friend of her Mother’s . It makes her happy and I’m happy for the space in the medicine cabinet.

Day 21: Abandonded Clothing

When I started this project I had very few rules—really only one: I was supposed to write creatively every day. I was not going to edit obsessively, or worry too much about style—the point was to simply WRITE. I actually have written a little every day, but a vacation and a frequently failing internet connection have prevented me from updating this blog. My minimal writing for the last three weeks is on little scraps of paper tucked here and there, or in e-mails I sent to myself from the road.

So here I am again… with a lot of catching up to do! Clearly my second goal of getting rid of 365 unneeded items is going to take me longer than a conventional year.

Today’s item is actually several.

On my vacation I ditched several clothing items I no longer need.

I started this habit years ago: When travel I bring clothing that is worn out, ever so slightly torn, stained, outdated or just not my style. I get one or two last wears out of it, and then leave it behind. Usually the clothing is not worthy of a second use, so it goes in the trash. (This may be marginally unethical, since the hotel then has to dispose of it, but I’m careful not to ditch too much in any one place.) I end up with space for new items in my suitcase and fewer dirty clothes to deal with when I come home.

So somewhere in a Lafayette, Louisiana landfill sits a tired brown turtleneck, and Pratteville, Alabama is the proud owner of a pair of olive green pants that I was very fond of until I spilled olive oil on them. In the TMI department, a couple pairs of torn underwear were left behind in Atlanta, Georgia and I ditched a pair of saggy socks I never did like in Texarkana, Texas.

Tomorrow I return to the discipline of cleaning out closets and drawers and writing and blogging. Promise.

Day 19: Cute Little Shoes

These are cute and from a time when my feet, back and legs were younger. My feet just get tired looking at them.

Day 17: Anna Thomas Vegetarian Epicure Book Two

This book was written in 1979. Can that really be 30 years ago?

Day 16: Another Cookbook – Anna Thomas, The Vegetarian Epicure – 1972

I  love cookbooks. They comfort me. When I’m sick it makes me feel better to curl up with several and read about all the food that doesn’t taste good at the moment. Strange, I know.

I love the idea of cookbooks. When we re-did our kitchen I insisted on a built-in book shelf for cookbooks and cooking magazines.  I love the way all the books look on our shelves. They make me smile.  I do occasionally actually cook something from a book, although these days I’m just as likely to go online or just make something up.

The cookbook shelf is overflowing its banks and despite that I have acquired several new cookbooks recently. Something has to give, so I’ve been going through cookbooks with a critical eye.

I discovered several that I’ve never liked, and some I’ve outgrown. I’ve been spending a little time with each of them and passing on the books I’m pretty sure I’ll never use again. This book by Anna Thomas is one of them.  It’s really fun to read, spending time with it is like a little step back in time–back to a time when bean sprouts were exotic food. But like some other early vegetarian cookbooks, it depends on too much cheese and the recipes just are not that fun. 

I’ll pass it on.

Day 14: Another 1,500 Piece Puzzle

This is s puzzle I picked up because it looked hard… It was.

It was so hard it wasn’t fun. To make matters worse the cats found it very amusing to steal pieces and hide them in the kitchen.  They know the difference between a good but difficult puzzle and puzzle that is just pointless.

I think enough pieces of this puzzle are lost that is it not even worth trying to give it away. I wonder if you can recycle puzzle pieces?

Or can we take it camping and burn it?

Day 13: Exene Cervenka – a CD I Never Listen To

For a brief time I was a member of a mail order music club. Just like mail order book clubs, they used to send you a notice each month that listed the current feature. If you failed to reply, you received their selection in the mail a few weeks later. They counted on slightly disorganized people like me to carefully check the “do not send me this selection box,” put a stamp on the envelope and let it languish in the bottom of their purse for two weeks. This is how I came to own many CDs I did not necessarily want, including Exene Cervenka’s “Old Wives’ Tales.”

Just not my style

I got rid of most of them, but for some reason hung on to this one. I peeled the plastic wrap off and listened to it for the first time yesterday. A cross between indie folk and punk rock, it’s not bad—there are a few tunes on it that are actually kind of nice—but I can’t imagine myself listening to it again. Someone will discover this treasure—either at the Goodwill or by reading this blog and speaking up. It will make them happy and that will make me happy.

Speaking of making me happy, I no longer let un-mailed letters and bills rattle around in the bottom of my purse. I check the boxes, write out the checks, seal the envelopes and hand them over to my husband, Brian. He puts them in his briefcase and never, ever forgets to mail them. It’s a sweet deal.

Day 12: A Cute Orange Pouch

My sister gave me a beautiful necklace for Christmas. I love the necklace and I really think this cute orange pouch it came packed up in is cute too. (My sister and my husband both pick out far more attractive choices in clothing and jewelry than I seem to find for myself.) I’ll wear the necklace a lot.

But this pouch is typical of the clutter that rules my life. I hang on to stuff like this for years. I move it around once in a while, but I never let treasures like this go. This makes no sense.

Isn't this cute?

The necklace hangs on a rack on our bedroom wall with my other beads. I’m not the sort of person that is going to put the necklace back in the cool orange pouch and tuck it away in a jewelry box after I wear it. I never have been that organized, and at 50 plus years I don’t think that’s going to change. So the pouch has sat on my dresser sans necklace since Christmas.

I don’t need it, but I can’t just put it in the Goodwill bag either. It’s just a little too cute. So it will go in the box of things for next Christmas and I’ll repurpose it. Maybe one of my nieces will find a little something tucked away in it.

Day 11: Better Homes and Gardens New Crockery Cooker Cook Book

This isn’t a bad book, but I have a better one. “Not Your Mother’s Slow Cooker Cookbook” is way better. And my mother gave it to me. And a person only needs so many crockpot cookbooks. What more can I say.