Vi's Freezer

We have spent the last month or so helping to empty out Doug's mother's house, which has finally sold after about eight months on the market. It's a sweet little house with a huge back yard, and a young family will be moving in. This makes us happy. But emptying the house--this makes us tired. There is just so much stuff. As I have already written about here.

By yesterday, we were down to the nitty-gritty. We'd donated furniture, hauled boxes, filled a Dumpster, called in Doug's nephew to take whatever he wanted. We were left with usable junk, which the junk guy was taking. And we were left with Vi's freezer.

Vi is Doug's aunt. She will turn 90 in July, and lives in an apartment in Milwaukee. She is tough and feisty and bossy, an older sister who grew up on a farm in the Dakotas in a house with a dirt floor. She's chatty; I could listen to her talk all day, and I sometimes surreptitiously write down Vi-isms: Pots and pans are "kittles." Taverns are "beer parlors." Mechanics are "garagemen." Liquid soap is "runny soap." If she doesn't know what something is, she just gives it a name and keeps talking.

She is hilarious. She is stubborn. And she is cheap. It's not her fault; she lived through the Great Depression and then married a man who spent a lot of time (and money) down at the beer parlor. She kept things together. She made things work. And once, when she was flush--maybe thirty years ago or so--she bought a chest freezer.

It's big. It stands up, like a refrigerator, and it takes up space. When Vi moved from the Dakotas to the Twin Cities to live with her sister (Doug's mom), she brought the freezer with her. She sold her condo, sold her furniture, sold most of her stuff, but she lugged that freezer with her across the prairie.

Doug's mom, of course, already had a freezer. So for the five years they lived together, there were two freezers, side by side in the basement laundry room, keeping things cold. Lots of things. Way more food than two old ladies could ever, ever eat. But both freezers were packed full all the time. This is the Depression-survivor way, I think. Never again will they starve!

About five years ago, Vi's health began to decline, and she moved to Milwaukee to be near her son. She left in haste and in pain, and she left the freezer behind.

A month ago, when the house sold, Doug's mom called Vi to tell her the good news. And the first thing Vi said was, "You're not getting rid of that freezer!"

It was a command, a command from a big sister. Doug's mom is 79 years old, but Vi is still older and still expects to be obeyed.

"That's a good freezer!" Vi said. Her granddaughters, she said, might want it some day. (Some day, maybe, but not now; they're college students.)

What to do? Nobody needs a freezer. Vi lives in a senior apartment and takes all her meals in the cafeteria. Doug's mom lives in a senior apartment and takes half of her meals in the cafeteria. Doug's sister lives alone and doesn't need a big freezer. Doug and I already have a freezer, which has been unplugged and empty ever since we stopped making our own dog food.

Vi does not want it given away. Vi does not want it sold. It's a good freezer.

Busybody me, envisioning the freezer somehow ending up at our house, had lots of suggestions. Tell her you'll sell it and send her the money. Tell her that she has 30 days to get her son, or someone, to pick up the freezer and after that it's gone. Tell her it's broken, and then have the junk guys haul it away.

Yesterday, the junk guy came to the house and hauled away the last of the stuff. Some broken furniture, an old stepstool, a wringer washer from ages and ages ago. The little house is finally empty, for the first time in fifty years.

And the freezer?

You know where the freezer is.

The freezer is in our garage.

And one of us is parking on the street.