Dave Wood

My Beautiful Wife woke on a Saturday this spring to discover that our trusted kitchen stove was not as trusty as we had figured. Instead, B.W. found out that our cookstove was a P.O.J. A Pile Of Junk. “Oh, my darling pet,” she exclaimed. “The oven in our Pile Of Junk does not work, and tomorrow is Easter Sunday and many of our dear friends are coming for dinner and I have a big ham to cook, a braided Easter bread and cake to bake, Au Gratin potatoes to warm up. Whatever, my tower of strength, shall we do?”

Yes, our oven, which is all of 10 years old, had crapped out. I immediately called The Appliance Magician of Ellsworth (A.M.E.), Greg Langer. to come right over so B.W. could get to work on our Hillshire Farm ham  I received a message from A.M.E. announcing that he had finally retired from working his magic, that he was going on vacation and wouldn’t be back until May, which is considerably after Easter Sunday. We called every appliance dealer in the Yellow Pages and all were closed up for Easter—or, chose not to even try to work on P.O.J’s ever.

So B.W. got on the phone to Angie’s list. Angie told her they’d send someone out for the modest fee of $300 withdrawn from our Visa card. Miraculously, Raphael, a very pleasant young African man showed up almost immediately and got to work. And our little host of heavy hearts were happy. Raphael worked and worked and finally figured he had found the answer. So he began calling various P.O.J. dealerships, who might have a spare part on hand. None did and the Angie’s guy confessed there was nothing he could do without that part.

“Whatever shall I do?” repeated steadfast but increasingly nervous bride.

“Let’s play our trump card, the neighborhood gambit,” suggested I. And so that’s what we did. Our next-door neighbor Ila June Brown-Pratt generously shared her ovens with us, even though she had Easter company as well. So B.W. spent her Sunday morning and early afternoon running from the cold as a cucumber P.O.J. across the alley to Ila June’s haven of heat. The guests showed up, ate the ham with great gusto even though it tasted nothing like the Hillshire Farm Ham of my memory. Another neighbor on Monday morning had the same thing to say. No taste. Maybe they should consider returning to feeding hogs from the slop pail. Once again!

All this bother resulted in a trip to a large appliance store in which a salesman learned that our P.O.J. was ten years old. “Pretty good for a P.O. J. Their life expectancy is usually about seven years.” So we were foolishly living on borrowed time! “Yeah,” he replied. Especially because the P.O.J’s have been having some trouble with their ovens. Their burners are just great!

After this costly lesson in cooking economics, my thoughts went back to my grandmother’s kitchen stove, which lasted for 70 years, purchased when she married Grandpa and which was the centerpiece of their home. It was big. It was beautiful. It was heavier than a Sherman Tank. Made of cast iron, chrome, and elaborate porcelain cabinetry, its high warming compartments always held warm saltines. It was manufactured in Beaver Dam. Grandpa liked to buy Wisconsin products, right down to his Nash Touring car and Kelvinator refrigerator.

In winter Grandma baked giant sheets of potato lefse on its massive cast iron top, entertained the extended family on Sundays, toasting homemade bread on its surface. As a kid, I was allowed to open the over door and rest my woolly wet socks on the door’s surface. Even Grandpa got in the act. After retirement, he arose every morning at 5 am, lit a fire in the firebox, and cooked coffee for his wife’s occasional breakfast in bed. The Beaver Dam had its exotic moments as well, when grandma tossed orange peelings on its surface and the old house was filled with delicious smells.

Toward the end, my father became concerned about his widowed mother playing with fire and so purchased her an electric stove. Grandma asked: “How am I supposed to bake lefse on the top of this thing???” My father caved and moved it into the “summer” kitchen and waited eagerly for lefse season. I’ll end on a note of irony. Her electric stove was a product of the company known recently as a P.O. J.!

Dave would like to hear from you. Phone him at 715 426 9554.