End of an Iced Age

It was the first major purchase we made together, my True Love and I. Fifteen years ago.

On a date to Sears we charged it. We installed it in a tiny rental house on St. Louis’ Italian Hill, then moved it to the century-old farmhouse set in a glade of urban trees that has become our hearts’ home.

Quietly it served us, all those years – except in a power failure or two – keeping safe our daily bread (and CHEESE), etc.

Then one night in hottest July it began to rattle and groan and die.

Farewell, old refrigerator. Recycle In Peace.

I was traumatized. Not from farming foodstuffs out to the functional fridges and freezers of friends. Not from the Cooler Management needed so our household could continue to eat in the heat – and stay healthy - for three days between purchase and scheduled delivery of a new Frigidaire.

I lost my cool because the loss of an icebox would also rip from the heart of our kitchen a vital visual archive. Fifteen years of our lives and loves.

Arrayed the length and breadth of our old Whirlpool’s white façade, a complex mosaic had magnetically evolved. Dozens of images, mounted with care, portrayed casual and joyful times, change and growth with family and friends, some of whom had passed beyond the reach of any camera’s lens.

Now I know a lot of households stick stuff to the refrigerator door. In many fine kitchens, invitations come and go, lists are posted and removed, and yellowed paper corners curl on kid class pix, cherished candids and postcards alike. I will not disparage anyone’s method of refrigerator muralizing.

I’m just saying my appliance embodied both meticulous design and time capsule verité – while it stored food! I kept the pictures all arranged nice and straight, secured with fetching magnets (life-sized insects, miniature fruits and vegetables) that complemented (more or less) the images they held in place. And I only added to the display. I never gave in to (my husband Dale’s) urges to edit or prune. (Did you know: a dampened dishtowel corner cleans just fine in the spaces between the edges of pieces of paper.)

And over this past year, as life and death and perseverance demands ruled our roost, a glance at parts of that panorama gave me, many times, the courage I needed to keep my attitude positive and my heart marching on.

Now another passing. This one as coldly easy to manage as it was searingly hard to take.

This was the Big Chill, the end of an era. A person has to know when to let go of attachments. And when to ask for help in a tough transition. Dale would strip the refrigerator door. I couldn’t do it.

I took one last long look and fled to work on that steamy day of exchange. I returned home to see a blank-faced18 cubic foot white monolith standing where a magnetized mandala had been. One basket on our kitchen counter held a pile of paper items. Another was overflowing with clumps of little veggies and bugs.

Friends returned our evacuated foodstuffs, bringing home to me the healing experience of restoring storage order. By the time I had repacked both freezer and fridge, I was okey-doke again. Another big change weathered.

The good news: our new ENERGY STAR appliance will use 30% less energy than its 1993-vintage predecessor. On sale, it was cheaper than the comparable less-efficient models, including delivery and recycling. It’s a nice bit o’ walkin’ the ole’ Green talk.

Even better news: scattered across every door of our 1940’s-vintage metal kitchen cabinets, the faces of friends and family, snapped at vivid moments, still attract my smiling eye with a force more powerful than all the dragonfly magnets stuck to these surfaces too . . .

. . . Surrounding a smooth, cool space of potential . . .