Prescience

Hovering in layers of clouds I view the building I live in. My vision allows me to see between the molecules of mortar and brick, through plaster, and into the kitchen where the midnight refrigerator has its door awry, open an inch, displaced by a rutabaga. A rutagabaga. A vegetable round, large, dipped in wax, and usually grown in Canada; I enjoy them mashed up half and half with potatoes, or alone with lots of pepper.

This one has decided to escape, and has noodged the door open just enough to raise the inside temperature that when I pour the milk into a bowl of cereal, it comes out in chunks. It was still okay, the souring wasn't that off-setting, and I wasn't going to toss my organic cereal. The rutabaga now has a look at the outside world as it sits on my counter. For some reason the refrigerator didn't come back on immediately, I know nothing about refrigerator languages, but the word reset came into mind.

Visions of the motor being burnt out and the electricity finding some way to set the apartment on fire scared me, so I unplugged a three prong wire from the power strip and shoved towels against the bottom. It's a manual defrost, so there was some buildup of frost. (Ha. "Some" buildup. More like the Arctic North in there. Get a Samoyed over here, quick!). When that melts it will rival a spring cascade in the Alps, salmon will leap up the rapids, and honeymooners will visit the new Niagara Falls. Niagara Falls!! Slowly I turned, step by step inch by inch...

Target had a cooler with wheels on sale to save any vittles able to be rescued, for the debacle I imagined upon entering the apartment involved stinky soaked towels and botulism crawling up the walls. Really, there isn't much worth saving in the fridge, but Martian's insulin needs to be kept cold. I walked in the door, and the towels were dry as a desert breeze. Why?

The fridge was up and running, apparently it had done the mysterious "reset" and kicked back in. What I had unplugged was the freezer, but no harm done there either, for all the items inside stayed crystallized. Good old Refrigerator! My second-hand hero! It was a hand me down from a friend. A dear friend, who I can't be friends with any further for the relationship puts me in Tizzyland regardless of how seductive and talented she is, generously bequeathed the item years ago.

Hand me downs are warriors, usually past their prime in appearances. During the first marriage, we had one that worked valiantly if you hit it with a hammer in the back when you heard the motor stuttering. Little Soldier! It worked well until we moved to another apartment that came with appliances. Can you tell that I am happy that money doesn't have to be shucked out for a new one? I did stop at Sears, which has a nice, smaller size for $600; it has an automatic defrost and is an energy saver. I so don't want to spend that much, for at the end of summer, I hope to get a iMac mini.

Everything is humming. I am not going back to hovering right now, as I want to clean out the fridge of anything else that curdled, fermented, or sprung hair. Maybe later. Later, when the evening creates a natural progression of slowing down, of coming to the end of the day. Then I shall thank the small gods of household appliances for their forbearance, as the refrigerator still breathes and vibrates.