I think the fates have decided that I should not have a working oven. I'm far from an expert in these fate-y matters, but when something is decided, it's decided way above my pay grade.
Sears came out, determined that they do not have the part to fix my stove, ordered the part, and can come back - in two weeks - to put the part in. That will be almost three weeks with no oven. I've put the pot roast in the freezer. Funny, but it being hot and humid outside, I didn't feel that I really needed the oven until they told me I couldn't have it. I had the roast, some quiche, some bread in my baking plans. I did manage to live moderately successfully without an oven for a year and a half until three months ago when I bought the new stove that just broke.
It makes me think of another time when it seemed like the fates had decided something, and darn it, that's what was going to happen, no matter what I thought about the matter. In, oh, about 2001-ish, my brother-in-law totaled a Ford Explorer by accidentally driving off the road and into some woods. The brother-in-law and the car were in Oregon. I was in South Carolina. I bought the car from salvage, had it repaired, and got a salvage title. Then a friend and I flew across the country and started to drive the car back across the country - on Christmas eve.
We drove two hours west first, to put our toes in the Pacific Ocean to symbolically start the journey. We were going to end the journey by putting our toes into the Atlantic Ocean at South Carolina. This was the second time for my friend and I to drive cross-country. A few years earlier, we had driven from LA to Cleveland. It was Christmas Eve, just in case you didn't get that when I wrote it earlier.
A snowstorm blew up, just east of Pendleton, Oregon. My friend, who was driving hit a patch of black ice. We spun and tipped against the mountain ending up facing the wrong way on the road. We got towed to an Indian Casino in Pendleton and spent Christmas Day waiting for someone, anyone to come back to work. It was the Worst. Christmas. Ever. We were both so depressed that all was could do was lay on our beds and watch some makeover show on TLC. When an insurance agent came back to work and looked at the car, they said it was totaled. Again. We made our way in a Planes, Trains and Automobiles sort of way back to Portland and flew back east.
I think the fates knew what the car's destiny was. It was never going to be my car. It was going to be ... a total loss. I/we succeeded only in keeping it from that fate for a few weeks.
The story ends well. We were both unharmed. My friend's insurance policy paid for the car. The money helped me get out of South Carolina and move to Washington, which was big, very big. We are still friends. Every time I tell this story I get thankful for all the ways we were lucky.
It's happened a few times in my life, where it becomes obvious that something bigger is going on than my little plans. I take it as a message that I need to slow down and stop Trying To Get So Much Done. I know it's only a stove for chrissakes, but I also know it's a message to slow down and chill. Pay attention to things and appreciate. I listen to those messages.
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