I unplugged the microwave oven last night and we’ve moved it out to the shed. It was raining buckets so we’ll wait to hold services before it goes to the electronic recycle center. It wasn’t just any old microwave oven, it had history, it had a story, it had sentimental value, it was family.
When Grampa Lonnie, my father-in-law, was sick (we later discovered it was terminal cancer) my husband Larry would go to L.A. and spend long weekends helping with repairs around the house and yard, doing things that Grampa couldn’t do anymore. He came home following one of these weekends with a large box. To thank him for his help, Grampa had bought us a brand new microwave oven. Now we already had a microwave oven and it was a built-in. This one was twice the size and it was too large even for a countertop. What to do?
My step daughters recommended that dad take it back to Circuit City and exchange it for something we could actually use. Dad said, “No.” His dad had given it to us and we might hurt his feelings. The girls felt that since Grampa wouldn’t be making any more trips to Fresno, and no one was going to say anything to him, he wouldn’t know and besides he’d want us to have something we needed. Dad said, “No.” The microwave was repacked and placed in the garage.
Grampa was a character! He was head of the family, no questions asked. He had stories from the days of the man with the tall hat (Abe Lincoln) and more stories of his time in the war, he was in the army conservation corp. He took his family camping and fishing and those of us who joined the family quickly learned these things and learned to enjoy them. I remember the first time we met. As Larry and I walked out to the car, Grampa stopped me and kissed me on both cheeks and said, “it’s been a pleasure knowing you.” After we were in the car and had pulled away, I looked at Larry and said, “so tell me again, is it your mom or dad who’s Italian, ‘cuz I think I may have just been given “the kiss.” Fortunately, it was his mom who was Italian. Grampa could heal everything from a splinter to a laceration; he was the original MacGuyver. And he loved his family … all his family. I loved Grampa like he was my very own.
Some months after relegating the new microwave to the garage, our built-in microwave died. I searched high and low for a replacement but had no luck. For one reason or another, I decided one day to pull it out of its hidey-hole and I discovered that the hole was much larger than it appeared. The former owners had placed risers, spacers, and a large frame to accommodate this small oven. I measured the inside of the hole and checked the dimensions on Grampa’s microwave and promptly called my daughter-in-law to come over and help me install “our new microwave oven.” I removed the risers, spacers, and frame, built a smaller frame, and between the two of us we placed the new oven in its new home, I re-framed the hole, and we were back in business. When my husband called that evening and asked if I’d yet found a replacement, I was able to tell him, “yes,” it had been waiting patiently in our garage and it was now installed and working as Grampa had intended.
Grampa passed away in 2002 and my husband in 2004. When I sold the house, I removed the microwave oven and put in another. I brought “Grampa’s” microwave to the new house with me. A little over a year ago it started showing signs of quitting but I kept nursing it along. It’s part of my family. It’s the last thing Grampa gave us. I’m emotionally attached to this piece of hardware. I could live with it turning itself off before it was done but recently it started turning itself on - without me even being in the room. Considering the potential fire hazard, it’s time has come. It hurts because I saw Grampa whenever I used the one he gave us. I’ve lost another piece of my family.
Thanks, Grampa! Even if it did have to live in the garage for months first, it made Larry happy that we were able to use it; it made me happy to retain this little part of you. It served us well for almost 10 years. I miss you all!
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