I spent Christmas 2007 at my mom's house. The following disturbing events transpired.
There was a package of meat which was probably left by mom's friend Doña Tere a couple of weeks ago in the recesses of the oven to defrost, and lay festering there, forgotten, until Christmas morning, when my step-sister Eva lit up the oven and slid in the enchiladas she'd been carefully assembling for an hour.
The oven lit up like an inferno. At first it seemed like it was an overlooked plastic dish burning, because mom stores extra dishes and pots and pans in the oven since she almost never uses it for its intended purpose. At one point the flames were shooting from the oven about three feet out, and my sisters Angela and Socorro, and Eva, stood around it wondering if suffocating the fire with potholders would do the trick.
As Eva wondered aloud if the fire department should be called, I picked up the phone in the living room and started dialing 911. At which of course, Angela and Socorro started hollering "NOOOO! DON'T CALL THEM! HANG UP, HANG UP!"
I hung up, but the 911 dispatcher called back and asked what the situation was. I replied "never mind, my sisters think they have a burning gas oven under control." The dispatcher said "OK ... um, you're sure you don't want the fire department notified?" I looked at my sisters whose potholdered hands were smothering the flames with empty crockery, and sighed "yes" and hung up. All ended well, laughs all around, sort of all around. Sigh.
There was a package of meat which was probably left by mom's friend Doña Tere a couple of weeks ago in the recesses of the oven to defrost, and lay festering there, forgotten, until Christmas morning, when my step-sister Eva lit up the oven and slid in the enchiladas she'd been carefully assembling for an hour.
The oven lit up like an inferno. At first it seemed like it was an overlooked plastic dish burning, because mom stores extra dishes and pots and pans in the oven since she almost never uses it for its intended purpose. At one point the flames were shooting from the oven about three feet out, and my sisters Angela and Socorro, and Eva, stood around it wondering if suffocating the fire with potholders would do the trick.
As Eva wondered aloud if the fire department should be called, I picked up the phone in the living room and started dialing 911. At which of course, Angela and Socorro started hollering "NOOOO! DON'T CALL THEM! HANG UP, HANG UP!"
I hung up, but the 911 dispatcher called back and asked what the situation was. I replied "never mind, my sisters think they have a burning gas oven under control." The dispatcher said "OK ... um, you're sure you don't want the fire department notified?" I looked at my sisters whose potholdered hands were smothering the flames with empty crockery, and sighed "yes" and hung up. All ended well, laughs all around, sort of all around. Sigh.
--- And about the photos above, yeah, so totally not related to what I just related, but I likes me some purty pictures. I would've had at least one pic of the oven disaster since I had my camera with me to capture the Christmas warmth and all, but my mom would've just knocked my Nikon out of my hands with a sartén.
Today's pics are of a turtle close-up and a long-shot of the "Fountain of Life" centerpiece of the Cathedral City Civic Center. .... hmm, looks like I have a thing for fountains.
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