I usually wear glasses only when reading or typing, but on this particular day, I’d forgotten to leave them at the desk, opened the refrigerator for some lunch fixings, and was appalled.
I was already aware of the bigger blotches and stains, and kept telling myself the fridge needed cleaning. But the specs brought to life all the crumbs, the smaller smears, splatters, and spots, and those sticky blemishes where the grandkids had spilled a little juice or I’d gotten too enthusiastic pulling out an open bottle of chardonnay.
The time had come to clean this pit that was passing for a fridge, but I had a problem.
This unkempt apparatus belonged to my daughter—I live here alone while keeping an eye on her house—and I had no idea how to turn the thing off without shutting down the freezer compartment as well.
Time for a plan.
After considering the matter, I realized I could clean parts of this beast over a period of days. And so I began. I removed and threw away all the outdated bottles of spices and salad dressing. Then I combined the remaining foodstuffs on a couple of shelves and removed three empty shelves for washing. These shelves didn’t fit in the sink, so I scrubbed them on the kitchen’s island table. They dried overnight, and it was time to repeat the process with more shelves and the crisper compartments. Once that mission was accomplished, I tackled the six miniature shelves in the doors. I finished up by washing down the outside surfaces.
And voila! By day three, that refrigerator looked brand-new. Now I smile every time I pay it a visit.
After thinking over this experience, I realize this refrigerator had become a teacher reminding me of things I sometimes forget.
First, planning pays off. How many of us jump into a project, big or small, without first thinking, “Is there a better way?” Dale Carnegie once said, “An hour of planning can save you 10 hours of doing.”
I need to affix that wise observation to the door of the refrigerator.
Next, the refrigerator taught me the importance of breaking down a task. By working my way methodically through those shelves and food goods, I learned anew the lesson of the incremental approach. Long ago, when some family members and I were working to turn a dilapidated old tourist home into a refurbished bed-and-breakfast, I’d frequently tell the others to ignore the mess and focus on the project at hand.
One step at a time, that was the idea.
Then there’s patience. Though I’ve become better friends with patience as I’ve aged, that’s not a character trait most associate with me. I wanted that refrigerator cleaned, and now, but then realized, What’s the rush? Who cared whether I took an hour or a week to clean that icebox? As a kid, I’d read Aesop’s tortoise and hare fable and its moral, “Slow and steady wins the race.” For many years, I often forgot that old adage, but that machine provided an excellent reminder.
Finally, those glittering glass shelves and shining interior walls give me, as I said earlier, pleasure every time I see them. Not to pat myself on the back, but this was a job well-done that has left me with an afterglow of satisfaction. Spring-cleaning a closet, washing the car after a winter of slush and road salt, taking a rake and ridding the yard of leaves: When we finish such tasks and look at what we’ve done, we often find ourselves happily basking in the results.
Oh wait, there’s one more lesson. I should wear glasses only when reading, otherwise I’ll be cleaning this place eight hours a day, five days a week.
