The Tipping Point

Don't want to gross you out or make you paranoid about having an iced cold drink at my house, but we have a problem with the ice cube machine in the fridge. Lately it's been producing one brown streaked cube at the front of the maker. The rest of the ice cubes look fine, but every other day or so you have to break off the cloudy, brown stalactite and then rummage through the cube bin to make sure one didn't drop down to start a stalagmite. Gee- a bit of Howe Caverns or Oregon Caves in my own kitchen.


What causes this--rust? brown lichen? mold? oil seeping in from somewhere? Thousands of years of water flowing over limestone? (no, that would be the cave). Perhaps it's the arsenic that my water company reported has been found in one of their wells--not to worry, they've shut down that one well. Wouldn't want to get cancer or anything!


It doesn't really matter where the problem comes from. The point is it's a new daily task to be added to the list or get fixed or just tolerate. (Don't worry, I'm not even thinking of DIY fixes. Remember the sidewalk lights project? The score still stands at 3 lights working; 5 not.)


So far, I've opted just to tolerate it, but I know one morning I'll wake up and know that TODAY it must be dealt with. It's my own private tipping point (apologies to Malcolm Gladwell)


In my family, especially on my mother's side, the tipping point was set extravagantly high. Once my aunt ordered a welcome mat for the bungalow and it was shipped with their last name misspelled. Most people would have returned it immediately, but my aunt and uncle said it was still a good mat and maybe their name had too many "n's" in it anyway. They also labored with a hand cranking can opener that was painful to operate, as its dull blade gnawed around the top of the can. Buy a new one? Why be so wasteful?  


Is it so bad that I grew up in a house where the upstairs renovation was never completed and shiny, silver insulation without benefit of sheetrocking greeted you as you ascended the stairs? My father just never got around to it and we all got used to it.  As a bonus for our high tipping point, the next generation of grandchildren have fond memories of going to Grandma's and sleeping under the silver eaves.


I have a theory that people with high tipping points are happier. They don't obsess about details; they take life as it comes.  Not original, I know. In fact I think I used my Don't Sweat the Small Stuff coffee mug today. Hmm, nice rainy day to read or write and celebrate the first full day of summer...and, yeah, a short time out to spelunk into the freezer. Happy summer!