My fridge is kosher

My grandmother (who raised me) was a remarkably well-schooled old-world-style woman for a woman who never stepped foot in the old Europe until long after she was grown-up. She literally saw everything and anything as a sign or omen of what only she could correctly interrupt. This made her the augur of the family, and depending on your point of view; either the scourge or saviour of the neighborhoods we lived in. While I am a thoroughly modern woman, in a decidedly New World kind of way, there is still a little part of me, who remains the daughter of my old world grandmother.

I just learned my refrigerator died on the eve of Yom Kippur. The Last Amazon told me everything in it smells really bad. I told her to just toss the lot out and I would speak to the landlord right away. According to my landlord, no one can fix the refrigerator until well after Yom Kippur has ended. I find this surprising since this is Canada, and not say a Jewish state, like say - Israel. My daughter, having inherited her great-grandfather's paranoia, believes this is a omen for fasting. She almost had me convinced until I remembered that since I am the first direct female descendent of my grandmother's lineage, I can safely declare - only the fridge needs a truly long fast. G’mar Chatima Tova