As a personal historian, I’ve long held the belief that everyone has a story. The same can be said for every thing.
So here it is, the story of my icebox. It’s funny because until we purchased this appliance, I really did call refrigerators iceboxes, an homage to my parents. For much of their lives, ice slabs brought by the ice man were the coolant that kept food from spoiling.
Even when I was growing up, my mom referred to leftovers as “cleaning out the icebox night.”
And that is exactly what my husband and I are doing tonight – cleaning out the icebox.
Notice the glacier forming at the bottom of the freezer. That ever-growing monstrosity reminds me of the old movie, “The Blob.” In promotional materials, it was described as the story of when “An alien life form consumes everything in is path as it grows and grows.”
I was taken to see this movie with other neighborhood kids at the Tivoli Theater in The Loop in St. Louis. All, I can tell you is that for years I had nightmares about the “grease blood.” Of course, I was afraid of many things.
With time, I managed to get beyond The Blob, finally believing there was no such thing. And then I opened my freezer and saw an ice blob large enough to consume foods in the freezer, including the bags of frozen peas that were just what I needed for aching knees a few years back. Other frozen foods likely will never see the inside of our stomachs unless we take up ice sculpting.
On Monday morning, a new refrigerator will replace the blob-filled one we purchased in 1991.
In addition to clean-out-the-icebox night, we will have clean-off-the- icebox night. Like any good fridge, this one is covered with photos and other memorabilia of our family. Yes, this family bulletin board holds plenty of this and plenty of that.
One other thing you might notice about our freezer section is that things are in there haphazardly. My brother had a few things to say about that when he went looking for a cold drink a few years back. He made me promise I would send a search team if he was not back in half an hour.
Our fridge was and will be limited by the space under our cabinet and the limits of our wallet. It is going to be a very tight squeeze getting a 66.5-inch high fridge into a 66.5-inch opening. We may also need to take up wood carving along with ice sculpting.
Our soon-to-be-departed icebox will be different from our new one. Instead of lasting 21 years, we were told the typical life of new fridges is just eight years – even without a visit from The Blob.
Now I’m really scared.