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the Last Icecubes
My Mother and her sister were opposite in so many ways. Mom loved Coca Cola with loads of ice, and slurped down
coffee that was burning hot. Her sister disdained all fizzy drinks and was happy to nurse a cup of coffee well beyond tepid. Mom was up and do-do-doing. My Aunt lounged and read and mused before budging an inch. For them, sisterhood was a push-pull relationship that teeter-tottered between extremes. Mom was always up and ready with a rapid fire response to every situation, Alice was relaxed, tut-tuting, descending into a philosophical dissection of its moot points. One warm evening at my Aunt’s home in the valley, Mom’s sisterly devotion was put to the test. Her laid back sister, unconcerned with temperature of drinks as she was, rarely had ice cube trays that actually had more than two or three cubes in them. We, a family where certain death was anticipated if the trays were not refilled on the spot and several bat
ches of ice on stockpile at all times, always worried when an event was at my Aunt’s home in the valley in 100 degree temps with crowds of people there imbibing full steam. (This was in the days of no automatic ice cube makers). So we’d ask upon arrival if we should go get ice. “Oh no we have plenty” was always the reply. We usually snuck a quick peek in the freezer when alone in the kitchen – sticking a finger in the tray to test the firmness of the water, and making necessary adjustments to the trays. So there we all were, the evening getting into full swing and the drinks flowing. The ice is down to a few cubes and no reinforcements on the horizon. Mom is attempting her best behavior - not wanting to stir up trouble since her sister was recovering from an illness as it was and everyone wanted the night to be happy. Mom was stationed in the kitchen by the counter, where the drinks were mixed - next to the aquarium. She clinked the remaining ice cubes around in her gla
ss, savoring the security of the sound. My Uncle, chatting happily with us and feeding his fish, walks over to the freezer and pulls out the tray, (“Hmmm making more ice?” Mom thinks to herself.) He lifts out the last two remaining cubes and goes over to the aquarium and drops them in the tank. Mom’s eyes bulge out of her face as her lips tighten into a thin line, holding back an outburst of panic and rage and disbelief at what she is seeing. She wants to say a thousand things, but for the sake of family harmony, must keep them all in. I watch her, admiring her strength of will and desperate attempt at keeping her composure from unraveling. I know she’s thinking “He’s gone nuts!! He’s throwing the last two ice cubes in this house into the fish tank and there’s twenty people waiting for refills!!!!!” Her round eyes meet mine aghast! I start to giggle and later she does too. My Uncle is as oblivious to the drama that has just gone on, as Mom was to his need to adjust the temperature in the overheated aquarium by cooling it down with a few ice cubes.
coffee that was burning hot. Her sister disdained all fizzy drinks and was happy to nurse a cup of coffee well beyond tepid. Mom was up and do-do-doing. My Aunt lounged and read and mused before budging an inch. For them, sisterhood was a push-pull relationship that teeter-tottered between extremes. Mom was always up and ready with a rapid fire response to every situation, Alice was relaxed, tut-tuting, descending into a philosophical dissection of its moot points. One warm evening at my Aunt’s home in the valley, Mom’s sisterly devotion was put to the test. Her laid back sister, unconcerned with temperature of drinks as she was, rarely had ice cube trays that actually had more than two or three cubes in them. We, a family where certain death was anticipated if the trays were not refilled on the spot and several bat
ches of ice on stockpile at all times, always worried when an event was at my Aunt’s home in the valley in 100 degree temps with crowds of people there imbibing full steam. (This was in the days of no automatic ice cube makers). So we’d ask upon arrival if we should go get ice. “Oh no we have plenty” was always the reply. We usually snuck a quick peek in the freezer when alone in the kitchen – sticking a finger in the tray to test the firmness of the water, and making necessary adjustments to the trays. So there we all were, the evening getting into full swing and the drinks flowing. The ice is down to a few cubes and no reinforcements on the horizon. Mom is attempting her best behavior - not wanting to stir up trouble since her sister was recovering from an illness as it was and everyone wanted the night to be happy. Mom was stationed in the kitchen by the counter, where the drinks were mixed - next to the aquarium. She clinked the remaining ice cubes around in her gla
ss, savoring the security of the sound. My Uncle, chatting happily with us and feeding his fish, walks over to the freezer and pulls out the tray, (“Hmmm making more ice?” Mom thinks to herself.) He lifts out the last two remaining cubes and goes over to the aquarium and drops them in the tank. Mom’s eyes bulge out of her face as her lips tighten into a thin line, holding back an outburst of panic and rage and disbelief at what she is seeing. She wants to say a thousand things, but for the sake of family harmony, must keep them all in. I watch her, admiring her strength of will and desperate attempt at keeping her composure from unraveling. I know she’s thinking “He’s gone nuts!! He’s throwing the last two ice cubes in this house into the fish tank and there’s twenty people waiting for refills!!!!!” Her round eyes meet mine aghast! I start to giggle and later she does too. My Uncle is as oblivious to the drama that has just gone on, as Mom was to his need to adjust the temperature in the overheated aquarium by cooling it down with a few ice cubes.
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