Have you bought any appliances lately? Anyone who knows me knows that I’m the queen of old appliances: 1946 refrigerator, 1971 stove, 1985 dishwasher – you get the idea. I bought my last two washers refurbished in 1990 and 2000.

This past August, just after I had the 30-year-old windows replaced – gotta get that tax credit – the stove became possessed by electrical demons.

Now why, I ask you, couldn’t it wait one more year for a nice even age of 40? When it began sending up smoke signals, and lights for the burners began glowing ominously, I decided that despite its tender age, I had to replace it.

Another fact my friends know is that I’ll squeeze a nickel until it develops a Dolly Parton waistline. Despite that fact and my not being a stove abuser where overuse is concerned, I had to buy that darned stove. When the old one was removed, I saw the charred wall and realized how important the purchase I so grudgingly made was.

Another member of my appliance bone yard, my washer, died in December. I tried another refurbished one, but it was so loud that I couldn’t use it.

The washer’s in my office. Then I realized that I last bought a new washer in the late 70s, so I decided I’d see what they’re like now.Off I went to see

Barbara, who has become my best friend in the appliance world. Lord,

I hope that woman’s on commission. Anyone patient enough to help me find all the amenities in appliancedom for the least money deserves commission.

“Hi, what can I do for you today?” she said in her usual cheerful voice.

“The washer died,” I said. “Why in the world couldn’t it wait a little longer?”

Bless her; she never mentions that ancient appliances are begging to be recycled into something shiny and new.

“Let me show you what I’ve got,” she said, clearly in sympathy with my plight. Friends, I tell you that the washer world has drastically changed. The tub is stainless steel, and the danged thing has feelings. It must have feelings because it senses your needs. Senses, I tell you! Who ever heard of such? It determines the size of the load and dispenses the correct amount of water for the job. The idea is that it uses much less water; therefore, a high efficiency detergent is required to be sure that only the necessary amount of suds is generated.

“The lid locks,” she pointed out as we approached one that interested me.

“It does?” I said. “Why in the world would you lock the lid?”

She opened it, and I saw why. A couple of gymnasts could easily fit into the cavernous tub. With no agitator to get in the way, holding an open house wouldn’t be out of the question. Put up a few colored lights, and you’d be good to go.

Forget arranging the clothes like you’re used to doing. The washer handles it for you. Everything sounds different. My son and I are still trying to identify what the spin cycle sounds like.

It sits there looking so fine in its 2011 splendor. To see it, I have to look past that 1946 GE refrigerator that my parents bought when they married.

I’ve got the owner’s manual for each appliance. “Every May 1st, brush with a steel brush or vacuum the fin-like coils on the front of the refrigerator,” the manual admonishes the happy homemaker pictured in her heels, dress, and pearls. So if she bought it on April 30th, she’d better start cleaning the next day.

“Avoid opening lid during sensing,” the washer manual warns. “The sensing process will start over when the washer is restarted.” I’ve been warned, but this time I see no heels, no pearls, no dress – thank goodness.

I admit it. The new appliances are much nicer. They can take care of themselves to some degree – that’s a good trait.