Wednesday, 22 October 2008
the stove stays
I love my stove. LOVE LOVE LOVE it. It's a Findlay stove from the 1950's, converted at some point from wood (and coal, we think) to propane, and a graceful and beautiful thing to see each morning. It was the first thing I liked about this house, and it's remained my favorite.
Unfortunately, it's at least fifty years old now, and the last time we had it fixed, the technician shook his head and said something about borrowed time. He has no idea where to find parts for it anymore.
Last night the oven wouldn't light. B fussed with it for awhile and then came out to the living room, frowning.
'It won't work, Jess. I think we're going to have to think about a new stove soon.'
I shot him a pleading look and he shrugged. 'I'll go try to fix it, but....'
Crashing and swearing soon were heard from the kitchen, along with a (loudly) muttered 'If you didn't love this thing so much, I'd...'
'Nothing, dear. You realize the only reason this is still here is because you love it, right?'
B appeared in the doorway to emphasize his point, wiping his hands. 'It's working. For now.'
I was appreciative, I was, and I smiled sweetly and thanked him, adding:
'You realize that you're still here because I love you, right?'
(He shakes his head at me a lot. Wonder why??)
Today he started looking on the internet to try and find out if he can gut the interior and replace everything.
Because he's sweet like that. And like my husband, the stove stays.