Magnificent ice formations, the Apocalypse, and the God of Small Things

Prior to marrying the Goat, I lived in a one-bedroom brownstone. The tiny refrigerator had an even tinier freezer, which was not frost free. For everyone out there under the age of 72, that means you had to defrost your freezer once in a while. The ice on the walls of my little freezer would get so thick that the only thing you could put in there was half of a banana twinpop, at which point a dubious process including your humble hostess, a blow dryer, and claw hammer ensued. Not pretty, people.

When we married, our fridge was a used model gifted to us by my Aunt Dorothy and Uncle Nick. It was an Amana, a fine FROST FREE side-by-side box. It did not have an ice maker, but considering I never had to defrost it, that detail was hardly worth mentioning.

Unlike the sun and sea, the Amana did not last forever, and one day the Goat and I were obliged to buy another. As I inspected the new freezers, the amount of space taken up by the ice maker seemed ridiculous. An ice water dispenser in the door? Who needed some dumb shit like that?

Hence, we make our ice here the old-fahioned way: we use trays. We have been doing so for 17 years without incident--up until a few days ago when I pulled an ice tray from the box and found this:


I immediately got my camera to record the event, then invited my husband and daughter to view it before dislodging the cubes and destroying the impromptu sculpture.

"It looks like a model of the Space Shuttle," I said.

There were two smaller formations in the other tray that defied my poor photographic skills, one of which was like an upside down crystalline teardrop. We marveled over the oddity for a few minutes, then I unceremoniously twisted the trays into the ice bin and refilled them.

A few days later, there was yet another mysterious formation in our ice cube tray. This one had a satisfying phallic shape:


Again, I photographed the event and rounded up the troops as witnesses. Two more uneventful days go by, but when I opened the freezer last night, there was another little ice erection, proudly striving for the chocolate chip waffles. (Yes, I took a photo of it. No, I am not posting it. Two ice cube photos is more than enough for any one blog entry.)

Perhaps the strange ice formations are harbingers of the Apocalypse, in which case it's too bad I can't sell them on eBay. Instead, I prefer to imagine this is a profound earth event, that the domesticated water in my ice cube trays is saluting the grand columns that grace the edges of our domicile.


My ears are on, oh God of Small Things. I'm receiving your broadcast loud and clear.

Yours truly,

Erin

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