Where There's Smoke....

Apparently somebody thought my life wasn't exciting enough. To remedy that, a certain occurrence took place as I cooked my dinner last evening.  The frying pan caught fire, shooting flames nearly as high as the bottom of the microwave which is located above the stove top. For that reason, it was impossible for me to smother the flames with the lid of the pan without getting burned.

Not wanting to end up in the Atlanta Burn Center, I grabbed the phone and dialed my Mom's house, where Mike had just gone to deliver some peaches and let him know that there was a pan on fire. He raced across the street to our house with the speed of a champion sprinter.  He quickly extinguished the fire by placing the lid over the now-shorter dancing flames, as the smoke alarms were screaming all over the house,  and the smoke was filling every room.  

We opened all the windows and turned on the ceiling fans and exhaust fans in the bathrooms and kitchen.  Before long, the smoke was out and by bedtime we were able to close the windows again.
However, this morning, when I got up, there was the distinct smell of an over-done steak and burned fried onions.  

Maybe Fabreze will use my story for their next advertisement.  The whole incident should be turned to something worthwhile.

In the meantime, while I wait for the royalties to roll in, let me encourage every young woman to marry a fireman. Let me remind every cook that surprises can happen, and that even though 'a watched pot never boils', a watched frying pan can catch fire. Let me tell you that smoke alarms are very annoying when they randomly go off without cause (or when batteries need replacement) but they are extremely important to have in working order. Do not slack off on this list bit of advice.

And remember....where there's smoke, there is almost always a fire. Be careful.

What I WON'T Be....

Do you remember the days of your youth when people would ask you what you wanted to be when you grew up?  I do....and I remember what I said, too.  I met those goals, and left some of them behind.  I've often thought of what my answer to the question would be if posed to me now...now that I've seen and become aware of so many more options.  I haven't settled on that answer yet.

I do know, however, what I won't be.  I won't be several  things.  I will never be a college student working toward a specific degree, because I've never liked school.  Please don't misunderstand. I do enjoy learning, but at my own pace, and in ways other than sitting in class rooms or lectures with boring instructors.  I'm not an avid reader, unlike so many of my friends are. I enjoy reading, but only things that interest me, not long books.   I will never be a mathmatician, bookkeeper, tax preparer, accountant, or anyone else who works with numbers. We have never been compatible... numbers and I, I mean. 

I will never be a race car driver. I abhor speed demon driving, or riding, for that matter.  I'm not a terrific passenger, because I'm always jamming my foot on the imaginary brake, or grabbing the bar above the passenger door when driver is flying down the curvy back roads or on the horrendous interstate highways. But, unless I want to stay at home, doing nothing....which I do not, I must endure those harrowing experiences of speed unleashed. 

I will never be a window washer or leap from tall buildings with a single bound. I will never climb mountains on foot paths, or rock walls inside buildings or outside of them either. I don't like heights at all. I get dizzy.  I won't be a miner or one who explores the beautiful under world of stalactites and stalagmites. I'm a bit claustrophobic.   I'll never be a world traveler, though I would consider that should by bank account allow it.  I'll never be a clown or a comedienne, although I think it would be fun to be one, I'm not that funny. Besides, clowns often scare people, especially little kids, and that would not be fun.

No, I'll never be any of the above....or a myriad of other things. But, do you know what? I'm not the least bit upset over what I'll never be.  I know who and what I am....a very happy wife, a loved daughter, an available mother and a loving Grandmother.  I'm completely content being ME...whoever that is at the moment, and I wouldn't change a thing!

My grandfather had a close relationship with my grandmother's family, and even though she'd been gone for years, he'd often go across the bay on the ferry to visit them on Shelter Island. Sometimes he'd take me too. That day my friend, Sandy, came along with us. Grampa surprised us by bringing a picnic along for us...he made the BEST tuna salad sandwiches, and he brought a whole loaf of them.  Sandy ate as many as she could pack into her tummy that day! We had our day-long visit with my great Aunts and Uncles, and some cousins and their kids. We played on the tire swing that hung from a huge old tree in the front yard, near the stand where Uncle Bill sold bouquets of bright gladiolas that he grew in the field behind the barn. We explored the large yard, and we danced around in the kitchen with old Uncle Charl swinging us around and around 'til he lost his balance and bumped into a big kettle on the stove, dumping all of Aunt Ardis' canned pickles to the floor. She chastised him with a stern, 'Now Charl! look what you've done!"  And she shooed us out with him behind us.  We decided to find something less rambunctious to do, and we went into the right hand barn building to make music on the old player piano. It was dreadfully out of tune, but it didn't matter to us.

After a big supper at the big dining room table, with all the family gathered together, the old folks went to the front room and visited some more. Before long, it was time for Grampa to load us up and head for home. Sandy and I piled into the front seat, with me in the middle.  We crossed the water on the small car ferry, arriving on the North Haven side in 10 minutes. We started up the hill toward Sag Harbor and that's when we ran into the fog.  Grandpa wasn't a speedy driver, by any means, but he slowed down even further to meander through the veil of damp air as the sun began to set.  We made our way along Rt 114, through Sag Harbor, and pointed toward East 
Hampton.  It was 'scary' foggy....at least to me.  Grampa pressed his foot a little harder on the gas pedal, and then let it up. In a few minutes, Sandy and I were giggling at the forward and backward 'see saw' our bodies did with every push and let up of that gas pedal.  I'll bet Sandy remembers that day, that tuna, and that foggy ride home, even now, some 55 years later!