Refrigerator Rights

I asked my sister if Granny Hopper’s refrigerator, pronounced frigerater in Chilton County, was still working.  My sister said it was the best one in the house.  Granny’s frigerater is a 1953 Westinghouse.  It looks like a giant tombstone with a big pull handle.

If that frigerater could talk, it would have 70 years of stories.  I remember as a small boy visiting Granny.  The first thing daddy would do is go to the kitchen, check the stove for gumbo, and open the frigerater.  It amazed me that daddy would do that especially if Granny was not at home.  Remember when people did not lock their doors.

When I married and moved from home, I understood the freedom dad had going into Granny’s frigerater.  I would go back home and open mom’s frigerater.  There you could find all sorts of goodies.  It is fascinating to stand in the frigerater door and stare. 

They are like treasure chests.  I can hear momma hollering, “Bobby, shut the frigerater door.”  Sometimes there were too many choices, but I remember there were plenty of times that the frigerater was empty.  Maybe we stare remembering all the good stuff that we have removed from the treasure chest.

Frigeraters are like shrines.  Covered with notes, pictures, and magnets they become sacred.  I know that every time I remove a sacred object I get in trouble.  If I accidentally knock off one of the sacred objects, I panic until I return it to its holy position.

Some people have no respect for holy shrines.  I remember returning home from an evening out with my mouth watering for homemade boiled cookies.  (That is chocolate, oatmeal, pecan cookies.  It is called boiled cookies because you boil the chocolate.)  We called them "cow patties" in Vacation Bible School.  They do look like them.  They were spread out across the table.  While we were out, my brother and his friend were lifting weights in my basement.  They got hungry and went upstairs for refreshments.  They spied the boiled cookies and decided they needed testing for consumer safety and realized they needed some fresh, cold milk.

Walking in the dining room and kitchen, there was evidence of shrine desecration.  Preliminary inspection revealed missing cookies from the wax paper where they were placed to cool.  Further inspection revealed that the frigerater had been entered and a gallon of milk gone.  In addition, a bunch of bananas were missing from top of the frigerater.

I finally deduced that there was no shrine violation, but in fact, my little brother and his friend were energized and much stronger due to the freedom to enter the frigerater.  It tickled me that my little brother had the freedom to go into our refrigerator.  He had been going into our frigerater since he was twelve years old. He will be sixty-three this month.  Going into our refrigerator reveals an act of intimate relationship that my brother had with us.

I think staring into the refrigerator reveals not only a longing for what inside but reveal something deeper.  The human heart longs for relationships

Randy Frazee calls it “Refrigerator Rights.”  He says, “A person with refrigerator rights is someone who can come into your home and feel comfortable going to your refrigerator to make a sandwich with your permission.”  The first thing I do when I visit my brother is look in his fridge.

Rick Howerton says, “People in our lives with refrigerator rights are the ones most apt to let us know they need our help, and they’re the people to whom we feel connected enough to ask for assistance.”

My prayer is that my friends have “Refrigerator Rights.”

Two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labour.  For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falleth; for he hath not another to help him up.  Again, if two lie together, then they have heat: but how can one be warm alone?  And if one prevail against him, two shall withstand him; and a threefold cord is not quickly broken (Ecclesiastes 4:9-12 KJV).

Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ (Galatians 6:2 KJV).

 

Jethro Gibbs Gut Feeling

 Have you ever had a “gut feeling”?  You know the one where you got about something and hoped it was not true.  I had one when I was going up home to check on our place, to cut grass, and do yard work.  On the way there I had a feeling that my friend Bailey was in a bad way. 

Bailey was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer about a year before.  I tried to visit him each time I went home, but for the last several weeks I could not get an answer when I called him.  I figured he was too sick and did not feel like talking and did not want company.  His wife Judy kept me informed through e-mail about each doctor visit Bailey made, so I was able to keep up that way.

I first met Bailey when I attended the University of Montevallo.  I worked in the Physical Plant with the grounds crew cutting grass.  Bailey introduced himself by throwing tennis balls at the grounds pickup as we passed him in the carpenter pickup.  Bailey worked in the carpenter shop.

I made a point to visit the carpenter shop because of my love for the smell of fresh cut wood and the love of building.  I tried to get a job in the carpenter shop, but they did not have any openings.  That changed when the supervisor learned of my cabinet making skills.  This began a long-term friendship with Bailey.

Bailey began at the university on a basketball scholarship from Berry High School.  Berry is now Hoover High School.  Bailey loved to shoot basketball.  He had the built for it at six feet, six inches tall.  We played every chance we got.  He towered over me, and Bailey made me feel short and feel more conscious of me being taller than most folks. 

He chose Montevallo over Auburn to play basketball but quit.  He never got a degree, but he did go to work for the University.  He loved working there and I loved working with him.  Bailey was a perfectionist and I like that.  Every job we did, we did to perfection.

I worked flexible hours in the carpenter shop and Bailey would take me to class and pick me up after class.  I got to play volleyball with the carpenter shop as part of the exercise and fitness program of the university.  The carpenter and paint shop would beat the electrical and plumbing shop every time we played because of Bailey’s and my height.

One fond memory is everyday Bailey, and I would go to the daycare at the Methodist church to pick up his son Keaton then take him to his grandparents who lived near the church.  Bailey loved that little Keaton and a short time later cute little Ashley.  That was more than thirty years ago.  Keaton and Ashley have graduated the university.

Bailey’s surname is Santa Cruz.  I could not understand how this giant, red-haired, fair complexioned man had a Spanish name.  It surprised Bailey knowing I was a history major and did not know.  He said that King Philip of Spain married the Queen of Ireland resulting in Irish people with Spanish names.  People were surprised when they met Bailey thinking he was a short dark-complexioned Latino but seeing this tall Irishman.

I went to see Bailey as soon as I heard that he had cancer.  I wanted to know for sure how he was and what condition he was mentally, physically, and spiritually.  I could tell something was wrong even through his assurance that he was okay.  Each time I visited; you could see the deterioration.

The last time I saw him I called to see if he was up for some company.  He said come over he had just wakened from a nap and wanted me over for a visit.  He was weak and pale but greeted me with his patented smile.  You know you have a true friend when your conversation picks up where you left it regardless of the time in between tête-à-têtes.  That’s a fancy word for heart-to-heart conversations.

Bailey and I talked about his dream house on Lake Shechi which started as a small block cabin and Bailey transformed into a beautiful home in the almost thirty-one years that Judy and he lived there.  We talked about his meticulous care of the centipede and the quality of fishing on the lake.  We talked of the Lord and His care and steady confidence that he was a winner if he lived or died.

At his funeral I learned that Bailey and a college friend played guitars and sang A Living Prayer as a duet at the Methodist Church.  His friend, Kneeland, sang the song solo at the funeral.  I could hear and see Bailey playing and singing.  Bailey told me once how he learned to play and harmonize with Kneeland and others in dorm bathrooms.  Every time we worked in the one where they practiced, he would comment about the great acoustics.

Bailey went to be with the Lord on his birthday.  What a day to start eternity! I told Judy at the funeral that true friends were hard to find, and I had lost a good one.  She said, “I know.”

Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted (Matthew 5:4 KJV).