Mom on the Run: The Next Chapter
OK. I give up. This damp rag is not working. I roll back off my knees onto my heels, stand up, and cross the kitchen. I pull open a silverware drawer, slide aside the divider with the knives and forks, and root around in the assortment of random mismatched implements. Finally I find what I’m looking for: an old steak knife from probably the 1970s, donated to our then-new family by my in-laws when my husband and I set up our household in 1989.
The knife is rarely used, not part of any matching set, and has a sharp, thin blade. It’s come in handy often over the past decades and is definitely the tool for the job today.
Back over to the refrigerator. I open the door, kneel down, get a good grip, and lean in. I apply the blade of the knife to the far right edge of the goo, and start scraping.
The maraschino cherry juice is thick and sticky, and obviously has been settling in for some time. I’m not quite sure how I hadn’t noticed it when it first started to accumulate – though, OK, I saw it a week or two ago, I just didn’t get around to cleaning it right away. I had a feeling it was going to require some elbow grease!
It’s been a few weeks since I cleaned out the pantry, clearing out the accumulated kid snacks and school lunch components. Today it’s the refrigerator. Among other scary things, I’ve thrown out seven expired Greek yogurts, two old looking tubs of shredded Parmesan cheese, and a few completely wasted bags of produce: lettuce, tomatoes, mini peppers.
I’m still adjusting to having no kids at home: I’ve decreased my grocery shopping by a lot, but some things I still buy too much of. Bottled meat marinade, for instance. I only use half a bottle now that I’m cooking for only two, leaving the other half in the fridge …where, apparently, it gets pushed to the back and forgotten. I cook less in general – it’s so cheap for two people to eat out – and I forget the ingredients I have on hand and use less when I do, leading to the three half-full tubs of shredded Parmesan.
The maraschino cherries, however, have no such empty-nester explanation. A few times each year I indulge in a homemade pineapple upside-down cake even though nobody eats it but me, and then I need a small jar of maraschino cherries. A pineapple upside-down cake is just not as fun without maraschino cherry halves centered in the pineapple rings.
But even the smallest jar is too big, and I put the remainder in the fridge, where, like marinade, it gets pushed to the back and forgotten … and apparently knocked over. And then the juice oozes out, and spreads, and hardens in the cold, and becomes an unnatural red-pink glue that has to be chiseled off.
Carefully, carefully I scrape. The hot wet rag I applied before bringing out the knife has softened the long smear, but it still takes some effort, a slow and steadily powered push. From time to time I back out of the fridge and wipe the compacted gunk off the knife and onto a napkin, clearing the blade for the next swipe.
It takes a few minutes – scraping and wiping and finally rubbing the spot with the rag – until all traces are gone. I stand up, raise the jar of cherries to my eye level, and assess: looks like there are enough left for another pineapple upside-down cake. I unscrew, replace, and tighten the lid – no more leaking, thank you! – and put it back in the fridge.
I stand for a minute, gazing proudly at my work, gleaming bare and sparkling refrigerator shelves. Yes! Everything inside is clear and visible. No more buying ingredients I already have!
And as I swing the fridge door closed I happen to see the calendar stuck on the side. November. Oh! Thanksgiving! Extra food, extra cooking … and kids home for the holidays. I open the fridge door again and gaze inside, getting a good look at the clean shelves while I can.
