I don’t know the right words, I don’t even know how I really feel. I’m stunned. I’ve lost a true friend. I’ve lost my juicer.
There’s something ironic about the Jack Lalanne Power Juicer falling apart and lying on the counter, broken and beat up, stained with the blood of carrots and beets, the years and work having taken its toll.
I wanted to hug it. I felt about my juicer the way that Pixar made us feel about Wall-E. It wasn’t just a machine. It had feelings, it had meaning, it had purpose. And it was hurt.
I just stared for a long time. And then I carefully picked up the pieces to see if it could be put back together. But unfortunately it had fought for so long, the plastic around the connecting screws was worn, there was no way it could be glued back together!
And I saw it coming. I knew it. Just one week ago, I lifted it up by its locking handle and it separated. It was hurt. But I didn’t want to believe. I didn’t want to believe the end was near. I was selfish. I wanted MY juice. I wanted MY goodness. ME ME ME.
I’d taken care of it, I washed it carefully after each use. It was just old. It worked hard. It was time.
But how to dispose of it. I wondered if I should bury it. Should I recycle it. I just can’t bring myself to just toss it into the trash. And now the space on the counter is so empty. I have a couple of liters of juice but it will have to be replaced. It’s so hard to think of. Will this new one feel the same, will it sound the same? Will the juice taste the same?
We’ve lived through oranges and grapefruit and pineapple together, kale, spinach, tomatoes and carrots, and even one eye-opening foray with garlic.
I’ll miss you.