SMALL GLASS DOOR REFRIGERATORS. DOOR REFRIGERATORS


Small glass door refrigerators. Refrigeration and air condition.



Small Glass Door Refrigerators





small glass door refrigerators






    refrigerators
  • An appliance or compartment that is artificially kept cool and used to store food and drink. Modern refrigerators generally make use of the cooling effect produced when a volatile liquid is forced to evaporate in a sealed system in which it can be condensed back to liquid outside the refrigerator

  • (Refrigerator (horse)) Refrigerator was an Appendix Quarter horse racehorse who won the Champions of Champions race three times. He was a 1988 bay gelding sired by Rare Jet and out of Native Parr.

  • (refrigerator) white goods in which food can be stored at low temperatures

  • A refrigerator is a cooling apparatus. The common household appliance (often called a "fridge" for short) comprises a thermally insulated compartment and a heat pump—chemical or mechanical means—to transfer heat from it to the external environment (i.e.





    glass door
  • (Glass Doors) doors attached to a fireplace to close off the opening of the hearth from the home to prevent heat from escaping up the chimney and prevent cold air from entering the home when the fireplace is not being used.

  • Puerta acristalada (f)

  • A visual representation of an embedded object which displays the embedded object (e.g. a sketch or graph).





    small
  • limited or below average in number or quantity or magnitude or extent; "a little dining room"; "a little house"; "a small car"; "a little (or small) group"

  • Small items of clothing, esp. underwear

  • on a small scale; "think small"

  • the slender part of the back











my mother's scissors




my mother's scissors





exactly the way i found them when i packed up my parents apartment the last time i was in their home, my home. even though, i'm midway through my adulthood, and i've had a home of my own for decades, my parents home always felt like my real home even with it's claustrophobic elderly dirt and neglect, flakes of dust stuck to greasy kitchen walls, places where the cat pooped and their eyes couldn't see well enough to distinguish it among the swirls of the carpet design, nubs of pencils i chewed on in grade school sitting in plastic cups, reminders my mother wrote for herself and then forgot to look at: "remember medication" written in beautiful flowing black crayon script and underlined, sometimes with or without a strongly pressed exclamation point following it. such a depressing place in the middle of a sunny afternoon, even more undoing at 1am by myself armed with plastic bags, and boxes, weeding through the last remnants of my childhood and the last of my parent's independence. do i take the box of my college papers staked 2 1/2 feet high? the riverside shakespeare? the highball glasses that feel waxy to the touch, how can i throw away my mother's cache of 10 small red eyebrow pencils? my 3rd grade catholic school uniform sweater, my father's pages and pages of mathematical calculations written on white lined loose leaf paper in pencil with copious notations to the side. it's apparent what they were and were not able to handle sifting through the wreckage, now that the drama's nearly played out. the smallness that their lives came down to, warm beds, comfortable slippers, anything flannel, the refrigerator, a few pots and pans, a sponge, dish soap, piles and piles of medical bills and insurance forms bundled with rubber bands, shoe boxes with expired supermarket coupons, packs of hearing aid batteries, piles of sunday bulletins from sacred heart church. i'm nearly paralyzed with the weight of this. why did i tell joel i could do this by myself? i want to flee, and at the same time, i don't want to ever leave, because when i close that door, that'll be it. and it will be so incomprehensibly final, that this won't be my home, and there won't be a another place in this world other than my own home, where i'm loved so deeply and where i'm unquestionably indispensable.

i remember when she bought the grosgrain ribbon in the mid 60's, remember how pretty we both thought it was. probably a purchase from woolworth's. somehow it found it's way onto the scissors, so that she could find them more easily. the scissors - were never ours. it was their last day at lake welch. they were young teens and i was around 7, maybe 8, and they were so kind, teaching me how to make woven bead rings, but they were leaving that day. when i came back to say goodbye, there wasn't a sign left of them at the campsite, except for the pair of scissors sitting on the top of the picnic table, and a small glass bead under the table in the dirt. so i kept the scissors for the next week and a half, hoping that they'd come back for them. they never did. in the morning, the sky was deep blue, the donut man's truck came trolling through the campground, you could smell eggs frying, and a new family rolled in and pitched their tent. so if your out there girls, i still have your scissors.











Stick the Hugging Butter Monster




Stick the Hugging Butter Monster





Stick has a rags-to-riches story:

Once upon a time, stick lived in a stereotypical bachelor's refrigerator, unwrapped and on a clear glass plate. He had big dreams of being part of someone's birthday cake or to become part of a batch of get well chocolate chip cookies. Alas, the bachelor let Stick sit in the back of his fridge.

The bachelor wasn't very good about watching for rotten fruits and veggies, he didn't really look at expiration dates, and he often kept his leftovers in plastic containers for so long that the leftovers grew moldy. One particularly stinky night, Stick felt something dripping on him. It was ooze from something rotten and sitting on the shelf above. Suddenly, he found himself full of life, with long, outstretched arms, two antennae, wild blue eyes, a wide smile, and with the ability to wiggle about his plate.

He sliced himself four small pieces of butter to make himself legs, and he began to walk around the fridge. Slowly, he built up his muscles, and, one night, when he heard the bachelor's television blaring loudly, he pushed open the refrigerator door and escaped to the free air.

Because Stick's butter, he's a companion food. Thus, he's always looking to wrap, fold or melt with other fabulous ingredients. Because of his companion disposition, Stick always seeks out hugs.

Don't you suddenly want a long, deep buttery hug?










small glass door refrigerators







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