My Frig May Be Jewish…

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This is me. In my washer. But this is about my frig.

I am getting used to the term ‘widow’.

Well, I’m not really.

I don’t feel unmarried to be honest.  

The title distrubs me in some ways. But in others ways, it seems God has prepared me for handling some of the things that a widow is called to handle. Like, I am not likely to panic when things break down.

(Don’t canvas my men to substantiate this fact.)

I have a long history of problem solving, some have even called me a fixer, especially with regards to appliances or machines, that I might take apart with the intent of putting them back together in better shape… DO NOT ask my brother about the bicycle.

(And don’t ask my men if they agree with that statement either. They have a limited view of my successes.)

Because living as long as I have, I’ve accumulated a lot of stuff and all that stuff breaks. Most of the time in clusters, which may or may not be statistically relevant. And because my dad never let us sit idle when a job needed to be done and we were supposed to see what needed to be done without being told, I am willing to give almost anything a shot. Even when I have no idea what I am doing.

My success rate has greatly improved with Y