Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

On Moving Refrigerators

So, I lied. Again. I did take time off. I really did. The grass looks good, especially with a plethora of little yellow flowers growing there. The pool area, where the strawberry plants are blooming, is ready for the pool guys to come and open it up. And the bedroom is a lot better than it used to be. The professional organizer came in and took over. Just finished moments ago. Now, I have a short story for you:

The graying, bearded father and his teenaged son worked in the pool area, cutting back the tall grasses and bushes and raking leaves in preparation for the opening of the pool and the Mother's Day celebration the father planned with some relatives, much to the consternation of his wife of nearly 30 years. The day was warm and sunny, something not atypical for the part of the country in which they lived.

As they toiled, the father scooping the leaves and branches into the deep Sears plastic wheel barrow and his son standing by and telling him to make sure he tamped down the leaves, waiting to take the load to the compost heap at the edge of the ravine that cut across the property, two police cars sped by at high speed, sirens whoop, whoop, whooping and blue lights flashing.

"Wow, they were moving," said the son. "There goes a third one," he added as the police car screamed by at high speed. "Something is going on."

"Yep," the father replied, dead-lifting some more wet leaves and brush into the wheel barrow. An ambulance raced past a few seconds later, siren blaring. "Heart attack or something, I'd say."

"Tamp it down with the rake, and we might be able to get this whole pile," the son instructed, then was distracted by the red and gold pumper truck that rumbled by seconds after the ambulance, siren giving out a short screech as a warning. "Accident, maybe?" the son asked.

The father, his bald noggin pinkening in the mid-day springtime sun, nodded, adding another pile of brush on top of the tamped-down brown and green plant matter, agreed, "Could be."

The father straightened and watched the red, white, and gold Fire Department Heavy Duty Equipment Truck ululating past, wiping his brow with the back of his light tan leather glove.

"Heavy equipment truck?" the son questioned. "Gotta be a dumbass who tried to get a refrigerator out of the basement all by himself and ruptured the freon line," the son opined, beaming broadly at his father.

Thank god readership turns over and only a couple of our dear readers have any knowledge about the refrigerator incident and those involved.