A friend from the small community fifteen minutes south invited us to attend their New Year’s festivities tonight.
We are setting off fireworks here on New Year’s eve If you folks are bored. We have to stay in our vehicles but it should be fun.
“Thanks, George, maybe next year?” I wrote in the return email.
The longer version of that severely edited reply, however, is my last blog post for the year.
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Thanks, George, maybe next year?
I’m not sure that I’d enjoy watching fireworks from my car – I mean, being in a crowd of people, cheering and applauding is a key factor in a celebration like this. It will feel so feeble, so pitiful, just the two of us, craning our necks, bonking our heads on the windows.
More to the point, I can’t remember the last time we stayed up for fireworks. Maybe twenty years ago, for the big calendar flip from one millennium to the next. Y2K. We were all worried that the planes would fall from the sky. Remember that? How anxious we were?
How sweetly naïve we were.
Anyway, thanks, but I’m usually sawing logs by 10:30 on any given night.
Barring full moons. Which we had last night, by the way. Which usually means a couple nights of insomnia either side of the event.
Even MORE to the point, we had fireworks of our own last night.
Fish and chips were on the menu. That’s hubby’s specialty. Unfortunately, he’s also famous for leaving pans unattended on the stove.
The fries were in the deep fryer, the fish was prepped, waiting for the pan to warm. I was across the room, and the cook was reading a book at the table, deeply engaged in the writing.
Then we both heard a soft “boomph” as the oil in the pan ignited.
“Put a lid on it!” I hollered.
He ignored me. He fumbled with oven mitts and carried the flaming pan to the sink.
“PUT A LID ON IT!”
Into the sink goes the pan and he turned on the tap. The oil spattered and the flames roared and leapt to the ceiling. The plastic shrink-wrap on the window above shriveled and disappeared in acrid plumes. The smoke detectors blared and the cats scattered in all directions.
Finally, he put a lid it.
I opened the windows and turned on ventilation fans and paced the house for the next half hour or so, trying to calm my jangling nerves.
As he cleaned up the mess, I asked him, “You do know how to fight a grease fire, don’t you?”
“Yeah… I should have put a lid on the pan.”
After dinner, we carried on with the evening. Nothing more was said.
We went to bed at the usual time, but he woke around midnight and couldn’t settle. He got up. I couldn’t get back to sleep either – the smell of smoke still hung in the air. Or in my imagination. The dinner time episode replayed over and over.
Yeah, George, I don’t think much is happening today in our household. We have to clear the snow from the driveway and make the last trip of the year to the grocery store. That will be plenty stimulating enough.
Happy New Year to you George, [and to you, my blog friends] and all the best in 2021. Stay safe.