where's the cold?

Just before midnight, Ed cuts himself a slice of watermelon. It's his favorite snack on a summer's night.
Why isn't the watermelon cold? -- he asks.
It's past my sleepy time, but I force myself to give it some thought: is it a philosophical question? Is there a right or wrong answer?
No, seriously, why isn't it cold? 
Ed likes cold fruits. He likes cold beverages: there are always two glasses, each a quarter filled with water, in the freezer. It's his way of making any beverage chilly as can be. Me, I'm indifferent to it. Is food cold? How do I know? Milk gets steamed for coffee, veggies are cooked, cheeses are brought to room temperature.  I hadn't really noticed if the watermelon is or is not cold.

We walk over to the kitchen, open the fridge and do a touch test. Everything seems just a little lukewarm.

It's not cooling, is it?
Nope.

It's almost funny to end this day with a broken fridge. Just on this one day, Ed has already fixed his car. He has unplugged a slow drain in the bathroom and now he is about to take apart the refrigerator.

Midnight comes and goes. Ed pokes around the internet for youtubes on what to do when this particular model fails.

There are many upsides to the story: the garlic/peppermint oils applied this evening have chased the mosquitoes away. So it's not horrible to plug in Ed's little refrigerator in the sheep shed and walk our foods over to it. Moreover, this could have happened when he was away. I tell him I would have bought a new refrigerator and charged him for it, just to get back at him for going away.
You would... -- he responds.
No, actually I'd probably sit down on the floor and cry.

In the end, after clearing out the fridge and cleaning all the shelves and drawers that somehow look really gross only when you remove them and look at them in bright light, I leave him to his tinkering. There's nothing more I can do.

Not too many hours later, it is daylight and we're up again, anxious to get my car to the big box auto tire center so that we can be first in line and have the new tires mounted before I have to pick up Snowdrop. By this time, Ed's figured out that the refrigerator's defrost thermostat is broken. A new part can come from Amazon tomorrow. Or, he can go across town and pick up said part today.

It's your choice, I tell him.

He knows how much I dislike the disarray in the kitchen. I'll feel adrift until order is restored.

He gets on his motor bike and goes across town to get the missing part.

I return to snipping daylilies. 462.


























And then we eat breakfast.






And shortly after, I pick up Snowdrop.

Grandma, can we go to the store and buy pineapple? I saw it in a Daniel Tiger video.  I have not eaten pineapple. Can we get some please? 
Well why not...
I'm so excited!

It's unfortunate that the one in Whole Foods comes peeled to its core. It doesn't look at all like the fruit that grows in pineapple fields. Still, the girl is thrilled. And I am too. It's been a while since she and I have been out shopping together.

I bring her (and all that pineapple) to the farmhouse. She eats, she plays...






But not for long. It's dance class day: they're practicing for an end of summer (really??) mini recital that's to take place next week.
















When her dad picks her up, she is full of stories and instructions for that final class.
We will come into the room smiling. You will take lots of pictures and then....
Her voice trails off. I leave behind a happy, chatty girl.






Evening. Beautiful, beautiful light onto a sublime landscape.





I'm already looking forward to working on next year's crop of flowers. Nature's beauty is addictive.

In the kitchen, the refrigerator hums quietly, as if nothing had ever been amiss. The watermelon is once again very cold.