How do you say goodbye to an old stove, one that was made in the 1950s, weighs about 98 kilos and has four, maybe even six different pilot lights that needed attending?
How do you express your excitement when you learned of all its compartments and possibilities, in 2008, only to be deflated like an old mylar parade balloon when you found out only one compartment worked? (hint NOT the rotisserie).
How to you say goodbye to a clock that was forever set to 13:45h, the time your child came home from school which was always your favorite time?
How do you say goodbye to an oven that produced so many cookies, for bake sales and for staff members at your restaurants, when you tried to buy back their love after being a flaming bitch because you were so stressed?
How do you say goodbye to a stove whose only working compartment you had to open with a large IKEA magnet that got very hot and often burned your fingers?
How do you say goodbye to a stove that was impossible to clean? How do you say goodbye to a friend that regularly gave you perfectly roasted vegetables even though you had to turn the tray around about 5 times per roasting session?
How do you say goodbye to a friend that roasted so many chickens, and offered a warm scent of rosemary and thyme to the rest of your home when this was happening?
How do you handle this magnitude of loss even after last Friday, when the gas was turned off briefly and you couldn’t find all of Wanda’s pilot lights and nearly had to evacuate your home due to carbon monoxide levels and threat of hypoxia?
Goodbye Wanda. The new stove will be slick and easily cleaned but I will miss your enormous capacities, complete dysfunction and general uselessness. I will miss you Wanda. Sorry that you will be scrap metal. Because you fed my family for 8 years.