From My Door to Your Mouth.

I was reading through old blogs when the call came.

"You're delivery will be there between 1 and 3." Click.

It was the short break I needed. I was skimming my blog. The old words from last year's posts bled away my joy, leaving me empty. Some of those old blogs are so lonely and bitter, even though they're trying to be up-beat. It's like having a guy in an a white out blizzard trying to tell you all about Jamaican beaches. You just don't feel the sand between your toes when his brows are glazing with ice. When I talked about moving on in those posts, I don't think I felt that either.

But that was a year ago. This year, there's a new fridge in my kitchen! What's cooler than that--especially when it's turned on! Well there is one thing cooler: the delivery guys hauled away the old one!

Woo Freakin' Hoo! Insert happy jig complete with heel clicking here. It's ok, dance. I'll wait.

The only down side to that exodus is that I needed to "predict" when the fridge movers were gonna get the fridge moved. I needed to be sure it was unpacked, so that it could leave. That was the phone call; I had my 2 hour window. So, I bought a big bag of ice to fit in my cooler. My ice maker wasn't making ice anymore. That's part of why I was getting a new fridge.

Well that and the fact that the milk was curdling on the top shelf. I think that it's fair to say those two things were related though.

Once I'd emptied the inside, it was time to empty the outside. No, I don't keep caramel sauce smattered on the door, so I can lap a lick later, like some Hansel and Gretel drive thru. No, I only keep magnets. Word magnets, and they don't taste good at all.

It's a box of those refrigerator poetry magnets strewn against the door panel. There were a lot of words too, and they all needed to pour down from the freezer door without sloshing onto the floor.

So many words. Refrigerator door poetry is a language all it's own. The broken phrases and mini stanzas, they're incomplete thoughts. There was something on the door about women and melons growing in the garden. Also, a short dark poem I wrote after my ex left. The door was like a photo album for the past year: a mini blog.

Even older. There were words stuck together by MyEx. I remember her telling me I couldn't steal one of her door phrase, because it was hers. Now as I type my own phrasing, I can't remember what her words were. Something about "Luscious," maybe it was "tacos." I dunno; I was in a hurry when I brushed them from the door into a Tupperware bowl. I didn't even think, until after I'd erased everything.

"Oh…"

I'd been in a rush to sweep things down, but there I stood with my word bowl, motionless. I wanted the words meaning back. I wanted the broken phrases and mini stanzas to make sense again. I wanted what they'd represented before...but that was all gone. It was just a jumble bowl of babble soup.

The same way my old blogs were. I mean I understand the words, and even know that they came from me, but I don't feel them anymore. It's all distant. Something that could have easily happened to somebody else, and if I didn't still get the occasional letter addressed to MyEx, I might believe that it did.

I dropped my words on the counter. And went back to work.

Later, the guys came, and rolled the old fridge away. I put my food in the new one and started placing words on the door. My new fridge, my new words, my new life. If you stop by, you can write all you want to mark your time. My words now are all about the future. I'm making new memories and finding new usage for words like "luscious," and "melons" and nobody's here to correct me.