Good Enough

“Good enough is the new perfect.” -Becky Beaupre Gillespie

This week, I got a new stove. As I write this, it is sitting in the garage, all shiny black and stainless and new, awaiting a Friday installation. The day before Thanksgiving of 1998, we brought our current stove, The Whirlpool, home. My husband did a hard wire that night and the next day, I made Thanksgiving dinner with it. The Whirlpool was my very first new major appliance. It became my faithful, dependable steed in the kitchen for twenty-seven years. The Whirlpool fed us daily, as well as all three of our girls - Rosie, Sadie and now Boo. It remains immaculate – though tired; replacement elements and burners for it are non-existent. A small convection/air fryer/toaster/broiler/dehydrator/bake/pizza oven/thingamajig that might do it all though doesn’t do any of it good enough, took over a few of The Whirlpool’s chores the past couple of years. Twenty-seven years is a lot of meals.

We take care of things we own. Our minimalist lifestyle, initially woven out of necessity, became a pattern of our no-fluff lives at home and at our business. Prior to The Whirlpool, our sturdy little 1962 poured concrete block “Florida house’s kitchen” sported a then-hip, now newly termed ‘mid-century kitchen olive green,’ oven-in-the wall, the matching stove top built into a countertop. In the early 90s, the oven-in-the-wall quit, and we couldn’t find a replacement element. For a year we grilled everything we normally would cook in the oven. The grill, our oldest appliance by far, was installed in the early 70s. It has been through a few minor rebuilds, though the Charm-Glo remains basically the same as it was when Uncle Joe installed it and piped it to City Gas, while teaching my husband to weld and work safely with natural gas. My husband, eleven or twelve at the time, was the man of the house. Uncle Joe, on visits from New Jersey, made it a point to give him the toolbox he would need to become a self-sufficient man. The City Gas inspector came out, approved Uncle Joe’s perfect welds, and the Charm-Glo ignited. It continues today to produce a great burger, steak or hot dog.

Around the time the oven-in-the-wall quit in the early 90s, my husband and I were earning extra money printing an industry newspaper on a dup for the county contractor association. We worked on the second floor of the first two-story concrete block structure built on South Merritt Island. The man who owned the building, Perry, a multi-generation Floridian born in 1927 in a house less than a mile south on South Tropical Trail, also spearheaded the newsletter group. Perry took a liking to us as much as Perry liked anyone. He owned an appliance parts and construction materials store on the first floor, and an electrical contracting service around the back. In the pre-Home Depot years on the Island, Perry amassed a fortune selling to contractors who built neighborhoods like ours in the 50s, 60s and early 70s on South Merritt Island, which would house employees who would eventually fill positions at the Space Center. When my husband told him about our oven dilemma, Perry invited him to crawl around the attic of the appliance store to search for an element. He found one, and the oven-in-the-wall was resurrected and continued to work good enough until we removed it in the fall of 1998 to begin upgrades to the house.

I am happy and excited to have a new stove. It’s a Whirlpool; the same basic model, with an additional “warming” burner, just twenty-seven years newer. When something works efficiently, simply, and does the job well, we are not much for changing it.

I am grateful for the twenty-seven years of good food, company, fun, and especially the laughter and memories The Whirlpool provided over meals shared at the kitchen table or the picnic table on the old long porch with family and friends. Apart from pizza night, we eat all our meals at a small table in the kitchen. During our evening meals, sometimes we are quiet, and sometimes, we discuss our days - it is a time to unwind and nourish ourselves. There is no television in the kitchen and no phones or computers at the table, except for at breakfast. Sitting at a table and eating an evening meal especially, is important to me through my raising; for my husband, a second-generation American of Irish Italian-Portege heritage, eating the evening meal at the table is genetic.

We like items that perform, with efficiency, the tasks they were originally intended for. Vacuums, washers, dryers and ovens do not need to tie our shoes, let the dog out, wake us up or perform chores outside the realm of their intended being. To many people’s shock, we do not have a dishwasher. Simplicity keeps things working well; the closer a household appliance sticks to the basic purpose of its invention, the less chance there is for malfunction and longevity increases. My brother Willard once famously noted, “if you don’t need it, you won’t find it at their home or in their business.” A compliment we repeat often and continue to take pride in today.

During chemotherapy, The Whirlpool provided the first meal I truly enjoyed in a very long while. Buttered toast and scrambled eggs my husband made one morning could not have been bested by a culinary wonder chef. The first day I was strong enough to sit at the table for a meal was a big reconnect to normalcy and a goal. The perfect mix and texture of fresh eggs, whole milk, salt and pepper and real butter consumed my senses, overwhelming me with gratitude and wonder as I gingerly piled it on perfect lightly toasted white bread. It was, I told my husband as I relished the food with joy, the very best meal I ever ate.

The following year, The Whirlpool provided a safe and familiar place for me to prepare a full meal for my husband as I began a recovery from six metastatic tumors to my brain. Carefully recalling the steps of making a meal from a list I hand-wrote prior to starting the meal, I checked my notes; the preparation that led to setting dinner on the table that night was a personal victory. My husband struggled to keep it together when he realized not only would he not have to cook dinner that night after a twelve-hour shift; though also, that I was reclaiming bits and pieces of my prior efficient, “good enough” self.

The Whirlpool sat stoically today, resting, where it’s been working for the past twenty-seven years. I wiped down its surface one last time as we talked. Well, I talked. Just as I talked to The Whirlpool for the past twenty-seven years through so much good life it has been a part of. I promised I would follow its example. I promised I would work hard to show up to perform each task I undertook as best I could; to be joy-filled as I worked, to be a strong and silent provider of sound nutrition for our bodies, to be productive and grateful; to keep life simple and consistent. And, to enjoy preparing and serving simple, fresh foods and add in the love of life for being able to perform these tasks. And most especially, like The Whirlpool, for as long as I live, to be good enough, each day, in all things.

Epilogue: “Does anything here ever happen here without drama?” We asked ourselves. WP2 was damaged in the warehouse, we believe. It works just fine, though dented in several places, probably forklift damage as the top is creased sort of too perfectly and the bottom reflects forklift impressions. If Home Depot does what the rep said they will, which is to pick up WP2 and replace it with WP3, we will be duly impressed.