Freeze Frame http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/ Everyone has a fridge story. What's yours? Take a snapshot—a freezeframe—of your fridge and tell us what exactly is going on in your life. FreezeFrame is a new way to tell a story and think outside of the (ice)box. Our favorites will be featured in a future book. en-us Copyright 2017 Smithmag.net Larry Smith RSS 2.0 generation class http://blogs.law.harvard.edu/tech/rss Freeze Frame by 1Shutterbug http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=300830 We tried many different types of frames. The cheap little individual frames had ruined the vinyl floor in front of the fridge door from falling ( they always fall ) and landing on their corners.
Now we look at our favorite memories through this large magnetic collage frame.
If a picture says a thousand words, what does your fridge door say about you? ]]>
1Shutterbug http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=300830 SMITH
Freeze Frame by ASBausch http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=282823 ASBausch http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=282823 SMITH Freeze Frame by SamiSwan http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=225485 This chronic incontinence has led to anger management problems. When I tried to open the freezer the other day, the enraged appliance threw a ceramic bowl at me. Fortunately, it only grazed my noggin. I delivered a stern lecture, but how do you put an appliance into time-out? Our microwave passed away suddenly a couple of weeks ago, and I admit – I did suspect the fridge of foul play. So much sibling rivalry there (sigh).
Recently, our frisky fridge started freezing eggs in their cartons – with no adjustment in temperature settings from us. A progressive educator would call that “creative and imaginative play,” but I call it annoying, or perhaps Multiple Personality Disorder. It seems an appropriate description for an appliance that one day is possessed by Satan and the next by Pollyanna. Or is that how every fridge behaves?
I’m thankful we bought that miniature crime scene tape on salvage. At the rate we’re going, we’ll get through all six boxes before the end of the year, not counting what’s necessary to tape off my personal culinary disasters. ]]>
SamiSwan http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=225485 SMITH
Freeze Frame by lillybrook http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=203623
The hand-painted pictures, magnets from family vacations, lists of couple friend phone numbers, and the photographs needed to go. Most items went into the junk drawer, a temporary pit stop close to the garbage… but I didn’t have the heart to toss away those memories just yet. My friends replaced the kid-art magnets and relationship pictures with pretty quotes about the power of women and of transformation. It was stylish. New. Simple. The house sold.

When I moved into a place of my own, I discovered that I actually liked the clean lines that uncovered my chaotic family fridge. The kid art still has a home, just not in the kitchen. The friend list – extremely revised -- is permanently stored in my cell phone and crisp new address book.

And the front of the refrigerator? Shopping list, school calendar, and pens keep us all organized. The butterfly, art, and girl-power magnets still keep me inspired and grounded.

The space is mostly mine – both my 11 and 14 year old are more concerned about the snacks inside that icy box – but even they have their elements on the front. There is a magnet of them when they were toddlers. There is a family photo of us on our vacation last summer. Regularly, the front will clutter with permission slips and reminders of events. Life with a middle and high schooler is rarely slow.

And life with a toddler makes it even faster. The bottom of the refrigerator is a reminder that time marches on, life changes, and we can never predict the happy ending. My happy ending involves three beautiful children and a single mom house.

Come in: get ready for a meal with us. My high school daughter is curled into the corner of the couch, just outside the kitchen door, finishing her homework. My middle school son is perched at the dining room table, working on his laptop. And the 18 month old – who loves to be on top of wherever I am – is sitting on the rug at the base of the refrigerator. Tinny music sounds squeak through the plastic speakers on her magnet toys. “A says aahhh. A says aahh… every letter makes a sound” mixes with the sizzle of sauté on the stovetop. “You made a match… look what you found” is punctuated by chopping noises as I prepare the salad. I step gingerly around the small pink angel on the floor, crack the refrigerator door open slightly, and grab the dressing from the side door. She looks up at me with bright blue eyes and neighs like the horse magnet on her toy. I smile and nicker back at her.

“It’s ready!” I call, and my oldest comes in, hugs my shoulders, and says “smells good” while she grabs plates out of the cabinet. My son hollers, “What are we having?” while he clears homework off the table and gets glasses from the shelves.

I scoop the baby from the floor, attach an “I’m the Little Sister” bib around her neck and give her a kiss on the head as I snap her into the high chair.

The refrigerator door opens and closes as kids choose drinks until finally everyone settles into their places at the table: Mom, sister, brother, babe.

Dinnertime. ]]>
lillybrook http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=203623 SMITH
Freeze Frame by FrancisDiClemente http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=181724 FrancisDiClemente http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=181724 SMITH Freeze Frame by JPReese http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=148706 JPReese http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=148706 SMITH Freeze Frame by JoanInColorado http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=119963
Our favorites are the offer of a Playboy subscription that came addressed to our son when he was about 7 years old, the "Libby is Guilty" headlines (daughter's name, headlines from the Scooter Libby trial) and the "Hon, where's the butter?" card I gave my husband for our anniversary.

Friends are always looking for new additions when they come over, and one friend always counts to see how many items are either from his family or about his family - if they aren't number one I get something in the mail the next week!

It's hard to take something OFF the fridge, but it is a rotating display and I keep most items that no longer make the cut in a memory box.

When we remodeled the kitchen we toyed with the idea of a stainless steel fridge, the pretty kind that don't work with magnets. We just couldn't do it. We've lived in this house for 21 years and those things on the fridge are part of what makes it our home. Long live the fridge! ]]>
JoanInColorado http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=119963 SMITH
Freeze Frame by Jeano http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=118395
Contents include:
1. Payback beer for electrician friend
2. Salad from backyard garden
3. SO's used (clean) cereal bowl, for use tomorrow
4. Almond milk (vanilla/chocolate) - yummy
5. Grape jelly labeled "for birds only" (orioles)
6. Last of the strawberries and first of the raspberries from the backyard garden
7. Radishes doomed for the compost (sorry)
8. Chard waiting for a stir-fry
9. Oatmeal add-ins - bran, flax, quinoa
10. Homemade energy chunks

Nothing unidentifiable! ]]>
Jeano http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=118395 SMITH
Freeze Frame by Hanorah_Slocum http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=116173
I'd started the photo collage on the fridge when I moved into his basement apartment in Jersey City. He had insisted that I move in, yet my things stayed packed in boxes in the hall for months. I’d felt like a visitor, cleaning up after myself and awkwardly asking for things.

His fridge had been fairly empty, save for a few Family Guy magnets. I thought it was the perfect place to start to slowly add myself to the apartment- he rarely went in the kitchen. The photos I chose were snapshots of the things we’d shared- snowboarding, traveling, and working on our matching candy-apple red motorcycles. With the photos spread over the white of the fridge, it seemed natural that those two smiling people would share an apartment, like they seemingly shared everything else.

Photos have always been my secret way of holding tightly to the things that matter most to me. Photos are not a way to better remember the good times- they are my way of clinging to things that cannot be kept- moving things, breathing things, transient things. I like the idea of taking a moment and keeping it forever, like the next moment never comes and nothing ever changes. I keep them as evidence that things were real, long after they cease to be.

When we decided to move to a bigger place in a beautiful New Jersey suburb, I finally felt home. After years of being in and out of dorm rooms and overpriced sublets across New York City, I was ready to be there. I unpacked the fridge photos first and covered our new fridge in us- photos, postcards, ticket stubs. Proof. Eventually I added a message board, where, in the beginning, we'd leave each other cute messages, and at the end, I’d leave him reminders of his traffic court dates.

Over the next six months, we did a lot of arguing in that kitchen. Photographs of ourselves at our happiest that were supposed to be nice reminders now stared at us from the fridge as if to ask, “Don’t you remember when you were happy together?” We’d gesture at them in anger and accuse each other of having changed. Snapshots that were taken just a year before felt like a different life.

When moving out of our apartment, I stared at those photos as I separated our utensils. His, mine, his, mine. I left the fridge collage for last. I took down our memories and stacked them in a box which would eventually be shoved beneath my bed at my parents’ house, an underground of old lives. Examining each picture as I took it down was like asking myself the same question over and over: what went wrong?

There were many reasons, and no reason. We'd passed our expiration date.

This is my refrigerator now. There are different pictures, postcards, ticket stubs. The pictures feature my family, my long-term friends. The post cards I bought for myself while traveling. My refrigerator is no longer about asserting myself in a place that is not my own, it is about the things that always remain. It's about taking stock of what's left, about appreciating the things that don't expire. It’s about holding on to the things that don't need to be held tightly to last- things that don't need to be frozen, or chilled.

I did keep one thing from our old fridge- a magnet featuring different moods. He’d bought it for me as a joke, so I could give him advance warning as to what to expect from me. I didn’t keep it because it’s funny, or cute, or even for old times’ sake. I keep it as a reminder that although my fridge may be all about me for now, eventually I’ll share it again, but only with someone who makes room for me, and who doesn’t need a magnet to know how I feel. Going forward, my fridge will only be about the things that don’t go bad. ]]>
Hanorah_Slocum http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=116173 SMITH
Freeze Frame by KeepingThingsWhole http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=115696 • The voyage: The magnet that says “Andrea’s Kitchen,” which my beloved Grandma Carolyn found at a yard sale approximately 20 years ago, takes you on the entire trip. Somehow this one magnet has remained in my possession through countless moves, tracing my steps from college, first apartment, first condo, first house, divorce… second apartment, second condo, and now, finally, to what I hope will always be my home.

• The split: 2010 Parenting Time Schedule (value: $20,000 in attorney fees)

• The new union: My new brood represented by horoscope signs (the positive ones that say nice things about you). I’m in the middle, the Libra, the glue, the bond from my daughter to me to my new husband and back again.

• More on my daughter: Hard won in conception, in birth, in court. She is mine. Her tiny handprints making a goldfish – that’s from kindergarten. Her “What it looks like when I’m with U” picture of the flowers, clouds, and warm, warm sun never fails to make my heart hurt in a good way. And – this one really skyrockets my Momma Bear pride– her “Art Achievement Certificate” award. The artist in her comes from my side of the family . Indisputable.

• P.S. That weird looking orange thing is a recipe for the tuna steaks thawing in the fridge, signifying that the biweekly diet started yesterday; end date projected for sometime this weekend. What can I say? My horoscope sign (Libra, see above) says I’m well-balanced, which I interpret as one week on; one week off – makes sense to me, probably because I'm bipolar. No, seriously.

RIGHT SIDE OF FRIDGE:
• Random magnets, some serving as temporary décor, others in proper but less important use. Isn’t the lunch tray one (bottom right) just so cool?! ]]>
KeepingThingsWhole http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=115696 SMITH
Freeze Frame by ANP http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=112822
It's a great point of conversation when I have visitors over. On this door is a pretty accurate personal history. Pictures of my foster family that took me in when I was just three days old and who I still keep very much in my life. To receive a mothers love from a complete stranger has made me who I am, no doubt. Seeing their faces makes me want to be selfless every single day and give as much love as I possibly can.

An old resident alien ID card when I lived in the Caribbean as a child always starts an interesting conversation on how I can dance merengue and speak Greek at the same time. A picture of my favorite aunt who's supported me throughout my life. My mom, who's young, bright and a good gauge on how I should be as a person. Photos of some friends and their loved ones. Our travels and crazy shenanigans immortalized. A note from an artist friend telling me, "be yourself and see yourself as the beautiful person that you are" in her handwriting that makes my body move whenever I read it. Every time I look at this door I swell with happiness and appreciate the good times I've had and remember that I'm never really alone. There are moments when companionship is all a single girl in a big city wants and these are reminders that I have much love in my life. I have it every single day. My friends help me soar through life and I couldn't imagine my life without them. Sometimes I wish my fridge door were a bit bigger... ]]>
ANP http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=112822 SMITH
Freeze Frame by Viv http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=112565
My childhood home sits dangerously close to one of the largest chemical industrial complexes in the U.S. in a county that takes first place (not second, not third, but first) in the U.S. for the most releases of cancer-causing dioxins and has a cancer risk 316 times the EPA’s “acceptable” cancer levels. Still, I loved this home. It was little things like these fridge magnets that caused me to have an irrational attachment to the place. Though the house was occasionally invaded by ominous chemical smells, I always felt safe there. To this day, whenever I smell sulfur, I am reminded of peaceful mornings waiting on the driveway for the school carpool lady.

As for the magnets, they are a testament to the interest my parents took in my upbringing. Vivian joins Campfire Kids --> Smiling flame magnet. Vivian gets chicken pox at Disney World and says she will never return to that disgusting place --> Mickey and Minnie magnets. Vivian becomes a nationally-ranked harpist --> Harp magnet. Vivian wants to become an astronaut (until her worsening eye sight changes her mind for her) --> NASA magnet. You have to care a lot to buy magnets commemorating every silly twist and turn your kid takes.

My favorite magnets, however, are the California Raisin babies (look underneath the wolves). I remember the day my parents ended up with this odd addition to the fridge magnet universe. A young boy had come to the door selling these things for his baseball team. Somehow, my parents had been talked into buying California Raisin babies in a nest of grapevines. Each raisin baby comes out of the nest and can be used as individual magnets but, being babies, they are a bit too small to really hold down anything substantial, so they usually just hang out together in their nest.

My parents’ weakness for kids selling crap door-to-door is one of the rare exceptions to their otherwise penny-pinching way of life. Penny-pinching is deeply, deeply ingrained in me. (Just the other day, my boyfriend said to me: “I am frugal, but Vivian, you are miserly.” I took it as a compliment.).

As a kid, I berated my parents for caving in and buying these ridiculous magnets.

“Five dollars?!” I recall exclaiming. Yes, I still remember they cost five dollars in 1990 (a veritable fortune) at the height of the California Raisin craze. “You spent five dollars on magnets?!”

I was nine at the time, and I remember this conversation well, because it was one of the first times I ever made my parents act sheepish.

“It was for his baseball team,” my dad stuttered.

“I think they’re cute,” my mom said.

I wanted them to go find the kid and return the baby raisin magnets immediately. (The kid couldn’t have wandered too far; he was snaking his way through the neighborhood on foot selling his vile, overpriced California Raisin baby magnets.) My parents refused. The magnets stayed.

I’m happy to report that the California Raisin babies are still with us. They have a hallowed place on the fridge in my parents’ new home in a significantly less carcinogenic zip code. I have to admit, the dang things have grown on me. I mean, jeez, they’re in diapers. One wears a bonnet. Another shakes a rattle. You can just imagine them growing up to become cool and collected adults who catch gossip through the grapevine and sing about it. ]]>
Viv http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=112565 SMITH
Freeze Frame by TF http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=112081
Being a Scorpio of a mostly guarded nature, my most prized imagery is generally stashed away deep within my cerebellum or buried in an old boy scout box in the back of a closet. I did have a few odd pieces on display on my refrigerator, an old high school decal, an odd magnet or two of no sentimental value, overall a fairly large blank canvas, just the way I liked it.

Much to the apparent dismay of my newly enthroned girlfriend, this would not do.

After a long day, I came home to a horrific display of kitsch “artfully” arranged on every square inch of surface metal. I gingerly opened the door fully expecting to find more inside. The display of kitsch caused me more pain than the over indulgence of fine wine I had the night before that I was just getting over. I didn’t hide my astonishment or disgust and proceeded to loudly veto all with extreme prejudice. Seeing the hurt in my soon-to-be wife’s eyes, I realized that cohabitating as a couple would require more consideration than I was currently employing. So I offered to compromise.

The next day, however, all was gone and that big empty canvas reminded me every morning of what a cad I’d been. Slowly over the next few months an odd piece would appear, I enthusiastically welcomed each and every one as they made my memory of that buffoonish display recede and fade deeper into my mind. ]]>
TF http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=112081 SMITH
Freeze Frame by WishfulWriter http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=112005
When I made the big move into my then boyfriend Tom's small West Village abode, there wasn't much to work with in terms of putting my stamp on the place. Tom had lived there for close to 20 years so it was saturated with his personality and style, leaving little room for a touch of "me." But, to my delight, I found the fridge, with the exception of a St.Dominick's High School sticker, to be an empty canvas begging for my extensive collection of magnetic kitsch.

I went to town imagining how enchanted Tom would be to see my whimsical creativity when he got home from work. We had our first co-habitational feud that night. My attempt at self-expression wasn't met with the enthusiasm I'd anticipated - far from it. Apparently, the fridge was a sacredly preserved area of clean and uncluttered real estate and Tom fully intended to keep it that way. My single stamp of identity in my new home was snuffed out by an uncompromising veto - let the bliss begin. I sadly removed and bagged my collection while angrily mulling over Virginia Woolf's "A Room Of One's Own" and the concept of a woman's loss of identity in coupledom.

As with so many things in relationships, with time, and in the spirit of compromise and good humor, we found a common ground. Instead of screaming "me" or "him," our fridge's canvas has evolved piece-by-piece into "us." The Saint Dominic's High School sticker remains and now keeps company with a Julia Child quote magnet from our friend Chef Pati. Next to that is my work buddy Tiana's postcard from Bali, which is flanked by a Wall Street Journal cartoon about credit default swaps and the crumbling economy. To the left, there’s a RE-THINK ad that Tom tore from a magazine the month he decided to leave his job of 23 years, and Chinese cookie fortunes that we found coincidentally appropriate in their opening moment. On the far right hand corner, Tom’s stick figure, "I (heart) you" note is posted giving me usage rights to the TV remote while he was away a few months ago. We both gave up our individual visions for the fridge, now our collaborative collage greets me in the morning as I get milk for my coffee. And it makes me smile. 
. ]]>
WishfulWriter http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=112005 SMITH
Freeze Frame by 8080 http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=111542
On the right door are two "GALLON" pictures that my daughter drew; one is a huge "G" inside the "G" are "q's" inside the "q's" are "p's" and inside the "p's" are "c's."

Below the big "Gallon" G is the other picture—Gallon Girl—love her! And I do look at her every now again when I'm cooking!

The left door has rip art. Two of them—each child made one—they are colorful and cool (construction paper and glue is all you are allowed to use). You decide on a scene (depending on you ripping skills this may change as you go), and instead of cutting you must gently rip the paper into shape. One is a bionicle scene that my son made; the other is an underwater scene that my daughter made.

I'm a bit of a foodie and love food shopping. One of my favorite answers to "what can I eat" is "open the fridge.” I like the choices it gives and knowing that with just a few ingredients from there I can create another type of art. ]]>
8080 http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=111542 SMITH
Freeze Frame by laurelannechina http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=111468
Now, you go to someone’s house, it boasts an "American style fridge-freezer" — oversized and holding a lot more stuff than you ever need. Sensing a theme here? Yup, this country’s been Americanized in a lot of ways since I moved here, don't get me wrong, a lot of the change is for the better. There is nothing wrong with people's expectations expanding; but there is something wrong with people's waistlines expanding.There is nothing wrong with your domestic life improving, your choice improving, and believe me i am not one of those snobby American expats who think everything that’s not British is bad.

But some of these changes, some of these "improvements" make me nostalgic for things this country seem to be losing. It’s essential Britishness. That which makes it unique. As a disappointed friend who came visit said: "I have waited all my life to come to London, to experience a different culture, and I walk down Kings Road, an iconic shopping street that I associate with punk and rebellion and what did I find? I could have been anywhere. Anywhere USA. I could eat at McDonalds, shop at Gap, pop into a mini mall, go to a movie at a multiplex-mostly American blockbusters, and top it off with a cup of coffee at Starbucks."

And that my friends, is why the rise of the "American fridge-freezer" does not necessarily mean progress. You see it over and over in this city-an area that is unique loses everything that makes it unique to make room for more faceless chain stores.

A wonderful city tears down the old to make room for the new. Of course the two can live side by side-but I wish the Tesco's (enormous chain supermarkets who would like to take over the planet), the Asda's (owned by Wal-Mart) weren’t welcomed quite so easily. I wish that sometimes I could walk down a street and know that I could only be in London, not anywheresville.

We moved into the house I live in five years ago. The kitchen was built in. You kind of have to hunt to find the refrigerator. Oh-there it is, behind a fake closet. "Hmm, its kind of puny," I said to my British husband when were thinking of buying the house.

His reply: "Don't be ridiculous, how much food do you need to have in the house at one time? You have a supermarket down the road and a great fruit and vegetable market five minutes away."

He's right. I'm glad I have an old fashioned fridge. It reminds me of why I moved to this country. When I am feeling a little homesick, I just look at its small proportions and remember-ah yes, I like the otherness of living in London. It's still here, you just have to search a little harder. ]]>
laurelannechina http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=111468 SMITH
Freeze Frame by reresnick http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=111420
What my fridge is full of, is junk. I tend to stick things up haphazardly, without thinking – don't know what to do with it? Put it on the fridge. Littering the crusty white door (again, yes mom, I know I should clean) is a free magnet from Delta SkyMiles, another from All-State Insurance. There's a gift certificate to Paron Fabrics for $50 – made out to the roommate who moved away two years ago. I think she stuck it there so I would make sure to use free money before it expired. But alas. And yet it sits there still, next to my Georgetown basketball schedule (Go Hoya's!) from 2006.

In fact, the map of my refrigerator really hasn't changed much in the past few years. It wouldn't be hard to throw this stuff away – the trash can is less than a foot away. But scattered among the papers and bad magnets – the detritus of my life – there are things I treasure. Cards from college friends wishing me a Happy Holidays, a great New Year. A magnet that reads, “Egg-cellent” with a recipe on how to boil an egg. It was a gift from my roommate after she moved to L.A., because she knew I needed the help. There's the photo of me and my friend Sarah, smiling and slightly drunk – she sent it to me with a note, asking me to be a bridesmaid at her wedding. That picture has been hanging there for three years – our friendship is five times as long. And here's what I realize: maybe I am a collector of things. These people, my friends, are like the stuff on my fridge – I will hang on to them for a very long time.

This summer it will finally be time to let go. After four years, I'm leaving my refrigerator once and for all, moving to a new apartment, with a new person. I'm excited for the change, the spring cleaning of sorts. It's time I got rid of all the junk in my life – the papers, the magnets – and focused on what is really important. Friends. Love. After all, he and I will be starting our life together, and we'll have a fridge that's pretty and clean and new. It's time to start collecting these things together. ]]>
reresnick http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=111420 SMITH
Freeze Frame by erinrech http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=111241
I remember when I lived at home right after college and worked as a magazine intern and freelance writer, and spent many hours working out of my parents’ house. Every other week, our cleaning lady, Vania, would come to the house and she and my mother would strike up a conversation like two old friends. Never mind that Vania was nearly 20 years my mother’s junior and had two babies— they acted like they were in a coffee klatch, not an employer/employee conversation. Their chatter would always come to an end with Vania saying to my mother (Claire), “Now Claire, we are in a fight. I don’t want to talk to you!”

On the other hand, I would get annoyed when Vania arrived because the whirring of the vacuum cleaner would throw off my concentration, and I always felt like I was in her way. How many times was I about to get something to eat in the kitchen, and she’d be on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor? Suddenly I’d lose my appetite in guilt-ridden shame watching someone only a few years older than I was performing manual labor at my feet. Meanwhile, my mother was buying Vania’s children Christmas presents, giving her any unused items from our house, and eventually sitting down and sipping tea with her. Where was my disconnect?

Years later, I now have my own cleaning lady, Shannie, and much like my mother and Vania, my conversations with Shannie are completely personal and extend far beyond any working relationship we might have maintained. Long gone are any moments where I felt like Shannie’s employer; she is like family now. When I sent her a sympathy card upon learning of her mother’s passing, I received a heartfelt thank you note on my refrigerator’s white board, which I can’t bring myself to erase. That simple note reminds me how, although I often don’t see it, I am turning into my mother. She genuinely cares for all the lives she comes across, and I couldn’t be more proud to try to follow her example. ]]>
erinrech http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=111241 SMITH
Freeze Frame by Elisa_Shevitz http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=111032
There are vintage note cards with black & white images with quotes such as “If alcohol’s not involved, neither am I” and “I’ll have a Café-Mocha-Vodka-Valium-Latte to go, thanks” perched next to a postcard of a Toots Shors screening I’d seen with my Dad. Juxtaposed with martini paraphernalia I’ve received as gifts throughout the years, I appear to be a very thirsty girl.

But if you look closer, the overly romantic soul that truly lives in this home is revealed by select Chinese cookie fortunes, temporary IDs from those moments-in-time where I’ve entered buildings to visit gentleman of interest at their workplace, and the daily pass from the day I auditioned at Atlantic Theatre School. The only photo is of my immediate family. One of my favorite quirky items is a knight-in-shining-armor magnet from the Walters Art Gallery in Baltimore. It holds up artwork from my favorite couple’s daughter who embellished her doodlings with Cinderella and Prince Charming stickers!

Down below the fold (since I’m more into reading the New York Times then cooking, I guess down below the fridge under the freezer is actually the proper verbiage) is an ad that features a watercolor illustration of Miuccia Prada. Its simple beauty and originality mirrors her work and art, and I’ve always admired people who follow their dreams. It’s next to a letter about “the life of a poet” that I was given by a bartender at ‘21’ a few years ago when he overheard me make the life-changing announcement to my Dad that I was quitting my corporate job to write and take classes.

My refrigerator used to be cream colored, I think. It’s so covered up with Gemini love horoscopes, photos, postcards, magnets, magazine ads that inspire me, creative images and slogans that I can’t quite remember what it looked like when I first moved in. The graffiti extends around the side of the fridge in the form of magnetic notepads where I make lists for my lists. Writing year-to-year resolutions trumps the more stressful daily day-to-day to-do lists; the more difficult list-making task oddly comforts me.

In my freakishly neat apartment, my Freeze/Fridge is the one place where chaos rules and I get a naughty pleasure from the bursts of inspiration. Not a morning person, I’m grumpy and can’t speak to anyone before my first cup of coffee. So while it’s brewing and I’m waiting for the aroma to bring me back to life, I find myself daydreaming while perusing my little messages and inspirational pick-me-ups to myself for myself by myself! Sometimes it makes me giggle because if I didn’t know me, it looks like a creative eccentric lives there, which is what I’d always wanted to be but fret that my day-to-day life doesn’t reflect that image. My fridge does. ]]>
Elisa_Shevitz http://www.smithmag.net/freeze-frame/story.php?did=111032 SMITH