The fridge


The fridge at my parents’ house is an exercise in choose your own adventure.

A long time ago I used to visit really regularly. In the home ecosystem I was the slug that made a periodic sweep of the fridge, devouring all the leftovers in my path. I did a pretty good job too. For the most part, leftovers never spent more than a week in the fridge before being eaten. Because of that I always knew that they were probably still good.

Now I have no idea. I look at things, trying to gauge how long they’ve been sitting there, poking at things to see if they’re alive enough to move. I’m often undecided so I just leave them there. The next time I visit many of them will still be there, confirming their inedibility in my mind.

But in spite of the fact that the fridge is a minefield, I do like visiting. It’s where my cats are. My mom makes good soup. I like their garden. Stuff like that.


Things are starting to come up in the garden. Mom has released the bees so any day now they are going to hatch out and pollinate like crazy. Maybe this year we will get more than last year, so we don’t have to tie cherries to the tree again.

The rhubarb is coming up. Crossing my fingers for another golden year at the fair.

this is not just any rhubarb sprouting...

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