So Joe made breakfast this morning, working around the fact that we were out of milk among other things. He came up with eggs, waffles with date butter, and grapefruit. The grapefruit was oddly warm for something that had been in the fridge. The OJ was OK, though. I fretted about the fridge and sat down to finish my coffee and scan email.
While Joe was in the shower I opened the fridge. No light. Uh-oh. I asked him if he’d notice that the light wasn’t going on—figuring, of course, that therefore the fridge was dead.
He told me he’d taped the fridge light switch down, because he’d decided that the problem was that the light wasn’t going off when the door closed. (He was right. There was a bag of lemon pasta on the top shelf, just ubnder the light, that had been sort of partly cooked on top, and the fridge was running when I went back to it.)
OK, it’s a classic problem that can’t be solved by direct observation. How do you know the light goes off when you close the fridge door?
As happens, he’d noticed that the cover on the light was hot when he first opened the door. The cooked pasta just confirmed it. Duct tape fixed it.
Then we drove out to Chimney Rock on Point Reyes and saw two tropical kingbirds, among other things. I’ll list those in the next thrilling chapter.
Posted by: Ron Sullivan