To think it was only such a short time ago when I wrote this love poem to my new LG fridge. Where DO the years go? There wasn't even time to say goodbye! We were away. On vacation when LG passed on. Alas, dear fridge, we hardly knew ye.
Here is the welcome it received when it came into our home, lo, these short five years ago.
Ode on an LG Fridge; 2012
O rectangular shape! Fair fridge! With doors
That ope’ double wide to welcome deli meats and Tetrapaks with ease,
And ice maker that doth quietly not scare the dog;
Thou, slim form, with bottom freezer deep, doth harbor frozen peas.
And doth thy upper chamber shelter milk?
Aye, whole gallons by thy adjustable shelves and door holders!
And when old age shall this homeowner waste,
Thou shalt remain, scarce past your warranty.
Then, fridge, a friend to man, to whom thou say’st,
“Beauty is fridge, fridge beauty, — that is all
In truth I pledged to this century!”
(apologies to John Keats; Ode on a Grecian Urn)
And now? The LG has shuffled off its cooling coil. Oh, faithless friend! How cans't thou betray thy promise? What of thine warrantied lifespan? Nay, only five years? Speak to me not of Built-in Obsolescence! I will hear thee not!
Well, that's it. I am done singing praises to this refrigerator. You can only imagine the sinking feeling to return home with bright, fresh, new groceries after your week's vacation to find lukewarm dairy products lurking in the upper cabinet and soggy, thawed casseroles in the freezer. A deceased fridge takes on an ominous, dank atmosphere when its light is extinguished — gloomy and sinister. Bacteria may be invisible to the human eye, but you know they're in there, like ghosts in a graveyard.
Throwing out food was an operation reminiscent of the olden days when fridges needed to be defrosted periodically. Remember that? Twice a year, my folks would make a full day project out of it: removing every last bottle, jar, and wax-paper-wrapped leftover, gambling on whether or not any potential hint of botulinus indicated keeping or tossing. Perishables got tucked away in a red and black tartan ice chest. Jars containing sketchy, but probably safe condiments were lined up along the kitchen counter. A bath towel got wadded up at the back in the space where the vegetable crisper was removed for cleaning. The door got propped open. And then began the long process of watching the 12-inch thick coating of hoar frost drip, drip, drip onto the towel below — a glacial pace that took an ice age. My family never stored anything in the freezer compartment, except a can of frozen orange juice concentrate and an aluminum ice tray that was always stuck to the freezer floor — wet metal on ice, duh — because there was simply not enough room for anything other than frost — building up over time in geological layers.
Fridges these days are hardly that much fun.
Everything in the LG got tossed, save a jar of gherkins that I hadn't opened yet.