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"Miss Bessie's First Refrigerator," but not, one assumes, her last

I am watering some new shrubs on the rocky slope behind our house where the system doesn’t reach, having an early morning moment of virtuous housetasking. Doing the watering is a mindless act, daydreaming, restorative, not  the perpetual upsell of American life.

But it sucks you in. It creeps up on you and announces itself when you least expect it. When our very nice stainless refrigerator was ailing last month and my husband was talking about the kind of unit he’d get to replace it, I started thinking, oh, yeah, that would be nice. Not, we should just get whatever fits.

New features… I’m thinking. Maybe glass doors… like a deli. In my fantasy we live on full bowls of trifle, lemons, Pellegrino and a rainbow of Vitamin Water. We don’t have bits of things, simultaneous ketchups, things that are formless and white, like a chicken carcass.

We were watching a new TV show and I noticed how nice the kitchen of the young urban couple was, all dark teal walls and stainless appliances. A lovely bowl here and there. Maybe glass is the new stainless.

But, I think, happily, the nice thing about a garden and watering your shrubs in the wooded glade is being out in nature. It’s a good way to start the day. I see a squirrel on a nearby tree and think, I could get him (with my hose). But still, where the hell did that come from?

Our fridge is repaired, but the temperature in the vegetable drawer seems a bit too cold. One day, we’ll have to get a new one. Glass-fronted. The better to display the game.

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