Our refrigerator stopped working two days ago. Tomorrow we may get a new one. The first thing I take to our surrogate fridge is everything perishable: milk, cream, cheese, soup cooked the night before. The next things I bring are the fruits and vegetables: cucumber, sweet peppers, arugula, one carrot, apples, clementines, thyme. Then I carried all the glass jars, pickled potions, in an Ikea bag, clink/clanking all the way to the other fridge: pepperoncini, pickles, olives, pickled peppers, black garlic, jalapeños, pickled ramps, hoisin, sesame, anchovies, bacon fat, spicy sauce, kimchi, chili oil, homemade flower tinctures, delicate herbs suspended in the cold.
On November 5th, I walked 7 total miles, 3 of which were alongside two other women, sometimes crying sometimes shouting sometimes silent no sound except for the wind on water.
Last Friday, one week ago, I got my favorite color of purple, taro bubble tea with good friends, found other friendly faces, saw a man lying still in the street, in the middle of the road, being tended to by a crew of EMTs.
Thursday I celebrated eleven years. Birthday joy to remind me that celebration is possible even in the dark.
Saturday I walked with three future women to a Swedish candy store, tasted salty black licorice fish, sugary strawberry ropes, spongy candy mushrooms, licorice skulls. I let them walk ahead of me, laughing jumping over cracks in an invented game with rules I don’t know.
On Sunday I escaped an escape room with two seconds to spare — a room designed for 12 people with 4 preteen girls as my teammates. We screamed as the countdown clock stopped, every second counted! we shouted and wiped the beads of sweat from our foreheads, our lips. Me, their surrogate mom for a few hours, an available fridge.
SUGGESTED READING:
Erin: tender heart
Garrett: cultivating loving community
Heather: art-commander, make it now
Naomi: age 16
