What hangs on my refrigerator

What hangs on my refrigerator is a collage of sorts.

Small things with significant meaning, reminders of who I am and who loves me.

Highlights not on a reel but in my soul. Only for me to notice, remember, feel.

Heavy magnets of trips to coastlines on different continents, often with mountains and hills close by. I still feel the pebbles beneath my feet,

see the shades of gray and green, hear waves rocking me to sleep, and

smell the salty air, whipping my hair into relentless tangles.

My daughter’s colorful handprints and finger swaps nudged between the letters, appointments, notes, and other scraps, hung by mismatched magnetic tiles.

A black and white photo of two of the greatest men who ever loved me, brothers, once so young.

Well-rested newlyweds in a photo booth laughing.

Rolled-up jacket cuffs worn by a baby, held by a tired dad in the mountains.

Family snapshots with Santa and at aquariums and belly laughs effusing love and lightness.

This place is an unsuspecting touchstone. I return time after time, in short moments throughout the day. Sometimes I notice the details deeply, other times it’s a brief passing.

I wait as water fills the bottle, or ice to fill the cup. I glance at the refrigerator, reminded of the tender letter I received years ago I never want to forget. Or that moment with my daughter on that fun, sweet day.

The cup is now filled. I walk away, back to my desk or the high chair, depending on the hour.

A tiny reminder my cup is always overflowing.