My kitchen used to evoke feelings of claustrophobia. It was of average size and decent enough – yet always felt imposing. A moment of clarity came on a random day in 2004 when I closed my refrigerator door a bit too firmly and set off an avalanche of magnets.
I sighed and stared at the strange, molded resin fruit scattered on the floor – the proverbial upset fruit basket. The remaining magnets had been redistributed. The insurance company calendar needed an adjuster and the magnet poetry no longer rhymed. Enough was enough!
