Celebrating Mr. Fulghum again-- this time with Leftovers! LEFTOVERS Leftovers in the less visible form are called memories. Stored in the refrigerator of the mind and the cupboard of the heart. These are just a few of mine that came up tonight, the laughter of a friend, the last embers of a great fire, the long glance of love from my spouse from across a room full of people, an unexpected snowfall, the year everything went wrong and turned out right, and a chunk of poetry I learned in high school. Im not often aware that I am happy. But I often remember that I have been happy. Especially when I sit in my kitchen wrapped in an invisible patchwork quilt made of the best moments of yesterdays. These precious things - these leftovers from living on - remain to serve as survival rations for the heart and soul. You cant entirely live off them. But life is not worth living without them. My solitary late-night forays for food in the fridge are often garnished with such thoughts. I dont go to the refrigerator just to eat. But to think. To sort it all out. And sometimes I think about the other people who must be at the same place in their kitchen at this very moment, doing exactly what Im doing, hungering as I hunger, wondering as I wonder. We will never get together. There will never be an international convention of us. No kitchen is big enough. But we are bound together. We make up that secret society of the Fellowship of the Fridge. Some how muddling through and getting by. And not really as alone as we often think we are, after all. Uh-Oh - Some observations from Both Sides of the Refrigerator Door Robert Fulghum
Posted on: Fri, 01 Aug 2014 18:16:19 +0000
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