Ice in Winter

My dad really valued ice cubes. When I was growing up back in the old country, he was constantly on my case about not filling the ice trays. He had a whole stack of them in the freezer behind the swinging door to the kitchen. Now, I like ice in my drinks, so when we came to this overheated desert of a country we made the wise move of buying an American fridge with an icemaker. The fridge was hopelessly expensive and actually never worked well, but man, the ice it put out was splendid. A bottomless pit of the stuff, compact and perfectly sized.  The fridge was so useless that it never even earned itself a name, it was alway just the fridge (or as bwo called it, the "cheaper fridge that her husband minged out on and would not by the Rolls Royce of a fridge that she had set her heart on").

Anyway, a while ago the ice maker stopped working. First it would put out great clumps of siamese twin-like co-joined cubes, then it moved on to making icebergs not unlike the one that sank the Titanic. The fridge doctor (who by now had our phones on speed dial) told us that the ice machine was not worth repairing. This was just the excuse bwo needed and off she went looking for a new fridge. I wisely stayed out of the selection process, one learns a few survival skills after 25 years. The new silver fridge moved in a few months back, and has become part of the family. The old fridge is now out on the back porch looking forlorn and alone - serves it right.

The new fridge is one of those faceless Asian models. It's quite big, but as all fridges in our lives, it's always packed full to the gills. But.... bwo settled on a model with no ice maker. Instead it has these build in ice trays. So life has gone a full circle. I'm constantly pissed off at being the only one to ever fill the ice trays. At least it brings me a little closer to my dad.