So as previously mentioned, the Senior Upstairs Tenant is back east on a family-related trip. The Child and I have been batching it, so to speak. We packed up this afternoon after work to head for Ocean Park, WA and her grandparents' beach house. Just as I was preparing to log off my work computer, the Child burst into my office screaming that the refrigerator upstairs was "boiling hot."
Investigation revealed that the interior of both refrigerator and freezer were at about ambient temperature, which explained the odd smell I'd been wondering about earlier in the day. The Child and I promptly embarked on a slapstick routine (Three Stooges! No waiting! Well...just the two of us...) of unloading salvageable food to my fridge in the basement and shifting deadly stuff to garbage bags and into Chuck's dumpster next door. (Like I'm going to put rotting cheese and guacamole in my trash can on Friday afternoon when trash day is next Friday morning and it's in the 90s every day...)
I then called the appliance company from where we'd originally purchased the unit. Spent quite a bit of time on hold, eventually got a fellow who allowed as how they might be able to get out and fix the upstairs refrigerator next Thursday or Friday. He counseled me to leave the doors shut, "They always smell terrible when they warm up -- if you leave the doors open, the rest of the house will smell terrible, too." I cleaned as best I could, and dumped a whole box of baking soda in the fridge and freezer. The good news is that the refrigerator is in month 59 of a 60 month warranty.
So we finally got out about an hour late, hit the road for the Long Beach peninsula
, home of (among other things) the world's largest frying pan, and Marsh's Free Museum
wherein Jake the Alligator Boy dwells. Going up 101 just south of Chinook, WA, I tried to pass a slow-moving van. The driver immediately accelerated, then slowed down when I slowed back down -- stranding me in the left lane. A seagull sat in that lane, trying to stare me down. It finally remembered wings when I was within two or three car-lengths of it, still being paced by Bozo the Van on one side and the Columbia bar on the other.
Let me tell you, 2,500 pounds of Toyota moving at 60 mph trumps six pounds of seagull.
Safely here now, with no damage to the car. Hopefully Mom's refrigerator will survive the weekend. There's a historical crafts day in Oysterville tomorrow (once the largest, wealthiest port on the Pacific Coast, in the oyster trade before the transcontinental railroad), then maybe the rodeo Sunday before we head back to Portland.