My sweetheart got us a new blender today, one that looks like it will actually do the jobs we ask a blender to do. Yay!
On the other hand, that means the retirement of the old, almond-colored Osterizer I got from the Salvation Army back in college, probably for no more then five bucks.
Over the years — decades! — that old chum has been trying so damn hard to stay running, and to do so many challenging things. Sometimes it rocked it. Sometimes it just failed completely. Other times, it has done as much of the job as it can do, and often quite loudly, before it just stops and says, “No more. That’s all I’ve got, kid. Sorry, babe.”
You may think letting go of the Osterizer would be an easy thing. Initially, the plan was for Blue to bring it to work and have it be a blender there, but then I started having pangs of attachment. Notions it should be put on the shelf I reserve for awards for work, commemorated in prose and poetry, or at the very least, bedazzled.
I realize this is because I perhaps relate a little too strongly to that old blender.
It’s outdated and horrifyingly nostalgic. It was cheap. It came from the humblest of origins. It had only half the tools or power to do most of what I asked it to, but goshdarnit, it tried to do it all anyway, even burning its little motor completely out plenty of times because it was not going to stop trying until it just couldn’t try anymore. It had the grandest of aspirations, and tried to do so many very big things for such a small, crusty, and tired little blender.
In a word: it’s been me. I’ve been it. I am Ol’ Osterizer.
We get each other, that old appliance and I. Perhaps like no one else could possibly understand — or ever will understand — either of us.