There are deadlines to meet, and dishes, laundry, and a body to wash. There’s a potluck snack to make, a table to clear, and a song to be sung. So for a few minutes, it seemed very important to edit the refrigerator door.
Down come the postcards from friends’ 2012 visits to exotic locations such as China, Easter Island, and Austin, Texas.
Down come the five magnets from the personal injury lawyers who besieged my mail slot after someone ran a red light and hit my car in May.
Down comes the card that accompanied the Mother’s Day bouquet from my daughter and son-in-law, just weeks after the joyous weekend of their wedding.
Down comes the save-the-date card for another wedding, of a young friend who is now expecting.
Down come the magnetic poetry words that were assembled into phrases and sentences one or two or three years ago.
Down comes the comic strip that reminds me of a mistake I made at work, and the grace I was shown when it was pointed out.
Out of sight on the side of the fridge go a bunch of magnets (pharmacy, bank, foot doctor, magnetic potato-shaped book of potato recipes, replica of a can of SPAM) that just aren’t needed right now.
Down low go the two the cat might want to see (veterinarian, New Yorker cartoon with a man in an executive suit telling a cat, “Never, ever, think outside the box”).
Onto a tea tin go all those magnets I made that are still waiting to be given as gifts or taken home by dinner guests.
Everything else gets straightened up. Front and center is the copy of a Mary Oliver poem that has been on my refrigerator for probably half my middle-aged life now.
Some editing has happened on the inside too. And now I might not be talking only about refrigerators any more.
Thank you so much for all your gifts, even the unwanted ones, 2012. Come on, 2013. Ready as I’ll ever be.