A Fistful of Mixed Grain

After stripping our refrigerator of its friendly armor, it lost the will to live. Slain by the loneliness of a gleaming facade, it stopped working last Wednesday. Our landlords were leaving on vacation, so we told them not to worry about it. We don't miss it horribly, but since I drink about half a gallon of milk a day, and the girls like milk, too, John gallantly set up a "milk cooler" in our kitchen. (Side note-- Scott and Leah, we'd like to buy real milk from your cows once we move.)

My packing of most foodstuffs coupled with our refrigerator's nervous breakdown has produced lackluster meals; the girls slurped Tasty Oats with milk + last summer's thawed blueberries for supper last night. (If anyone wants the recipe, give me a holler, and I'll post it on buildabelly.) These cardboard meals come after again making the yummy chicken buryani on Tuesday night, too. John likes it so much that he threatens to find himself a nice, Pakistani girl if I don't make it frequently enough.

Thanks to the Eckleys sharing a feast with us on Thursday night, though, we'll survive. We filled our bellies so full that I figure we should last until next Thursday, at the very least.
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The sun slipped past our horizon of houses quite a while ago, and the thermometer tells me that it's still 92 degrees in our upper apartment. It's always a good bit stickier up here than it is outside; since tomorrow is supposed to be even warmer, and Tuesday warmer yet, I am glad we're moving before August hits (although this feels like August). I made beef stew in the crockpot today so that we could use up some meat. Boy, was it ever a perfect day for piping hot stew. (I'm not Martha, that's for sure.)
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We pack and pack. Boxes open their flaps for both the needed and unnecessaries, for the everpresent and near at hand to the old and nearly forgotten.

Distractions abound, chiefest of which are two boxes heavy with words and worth their weight in gold tenfold. A double portion, sent and received. Words are not what won me, but I'm glad of the Friend who wove them so well, and there are worse ways to procrastinate than to sit cross-legged on the kitchen floor, sifting through an alphabet of love. The sweetness of substance.
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Yesterday, we didn't set foot outside the house until bedtime. Just shy of eight o'clock, a time when the girls are usually in bed, though not yet asleep, we bolted from our prison for a walk to the post office. The last round of bills for this place are now mailed, and good riddance to them. Snapshots of our escape stand at attention in rows below. (No pictures of the bills. Good riddance!)
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Now that we've moved nearly innumerable boxes to the landlord's garage, our apartment is beginning to look nice in spots! Why do we ever have more than 3 cups in the cupboards? Why does the medicine cabinet ever hold more than one tube of triple antibiotic ointment and some bandaids? Who ever uses more than one pen and one pencil? I think it's not so much the type of belongings we have that become a burden as much as the duplication of them.

John and I are stupefied by the amount of boxes we've packed. Today, he switched our reservation for a moving truck to the next largest size. We feel better now, knowing that we'll have enough truck space, but it was a bit disheartening, as well. We are magicians to fit so much stuff into such a small apartment-- a talent I think we would do well to temper in our next place.

Now that the counters have been cleared of cutting boards and measuring cups, along with all else that of necessity was clumped thereon, my three feet of counter space yawn like an empty field. It's a beautiful sight.

(Maybe we should drive the moving truck straight to Amvets.)

I read a book in Sr. Seminar English class about a woman who broke the bindings of human ties and material stuff. I have no desire to walk without dear ones by my side, but I wouldn't mind lugging about half as much stuff along with us. We are so suffocated with material wealth in this country that a family like ours can be classified as poor and yet have abundantly more than we need.

I am certainly not complaining of bountiful provision, though, and I will be cheerfully grateful that we had so much to pack once it has all been unpacked and put into a proper place in our new home. And when I have a garage sale this summer, you're all invited, as long as you bring pockets nearly burnt through with money and enough time to enjoy good food and conversation.
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Today was our last Sunday worshipping with the saints at Niagara Reformed Presbyterian. The leaving is bittersweet. Our membership will be transferred to the church group in Ithaca, and we are looking forward to getting to know them better, but we will miss the fellowship we've enjoyed for the past two years. Being part of such a small group fosters closeness by necessity, and being witness to a dear man's death after only attending for a few months gave us an immediate and irrevocable bond with those who helplessly watched the same. We are thankful for the friendships we've formed with perhaps unlikely folk and will miss them as they miss us. God has been and is so good to call us together with His people.
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One last bit for a post delirious with heat...
I sent out our new mailing address via email several days ago. If you didn't receive it, and you'd like it, please send me an email at the fridgefame@gmail.com address, and I'll email it to you from my regular email account.

That's all.