Lori Borgman: Everything's cool thanks to Mr. Fix-It

Lori Borgman, Tribune News Service on Sep 22, 2026

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When a technician pronounced our refrigerator’s ice maker beyond repair two years ago, he bowed his head, marked the event with a moment of silence, then handed us an outrageous repair bill.

Not going down to defeat, or life without ice, we went out and bought two plastic ice cube trays. Making our own ice was such a throwback to the past that I bought a poodle skirt, the husband greased his hair and we began jitterbugging.

Who knew what could happen next? Would we start drinking out of the garden hose? Would we call the bank for current time and temp? Ride bikes without helmets? Put rabbit ears on top of the television?

Recently, a son-in-law pulled the fridge out from the wall, dismantled the ice maker component, installed a new unit he bought online, waved a couple of tools over the whole operation, shoved it back into place and said, “Fingers crossed.”

I wish more repair people had his honesty.

He checked the ice maker during dinner and announced water had filled the tray for cubes. Excitement reverberated around the table.

There weren’t any other signs of ice during dinner or after dinner. When they left for home, he said, “Just chill. These things don’t happen quickly, but delivery could be soon.”

We promised to stay cool, but it was like waiting for another grandbaby to arrive.

I cracked open the freezer door every few minutes and gave updates. “The water in the tray is freezing. I think it’s getting close.”

We even whispered as though our voices might disturb the ice maker waiting for the big moment.

Texts flew back and forth.

"Any ice yet?” our daughter texted.

“Still waiting! We’ll keep you posted.”

“Ok,” she texted “we’re going to bed soon but let us know if there’s any news.”

A working ice maker would be a game changer. We’ve grown accustomed to buying big bags of ice at the grocery, having them meld into one small iceberg and then whacking the bag with a large mallet in the garage as people arrive. It’s a rather unsettling start to social gatherings.

We sat on the sofa, waiting and listening, listening and waiting. At exactly 10:23 p.m., a low rumble was followed by the clatter of ice cubes dropping into the bin.

Houston, we have ice!

We can finally retire our plastic ice cube trays, as they are now mere water under the ‘fridge.