The refrigerator in my kitchen is black — not that you would notice. Over the years magnets have showed up. Like pocket rocks, magnets show up when you don’t expect them. Because what do the gods say about expectation? Something something don’t attach yourself to wantnot and whathaveyous.
In my household (homehold) my homemates (offspring) rearrange the magnets as a way to center themselves. There is something soothing about standing in a darkened kitchen (maybe there is an oatmeal raisin candle burning on the stove) and realigning the magnets.
The day when my offspring (magnet realigners) will move out to their own kitchens approaches. I work at not thinking about it. I work at not thinking about back in the day, how it was each of the twenty hundred magnets were acquired. I trade memories for remembering right now — red peppers grow in a turquoise pot by the kitchen sink. When my son cooks dinner for us, he snips a pepper off, grinds it for the sauce bubbling on the stove. I trade more pastward thinking thoughts for remembering right now a pile of illustrated books accumulates on the bench in the kitchen for my daughter’s first-grade students. There are no moments before, no moments after.