I love to cook. I always have. I think I was born with a spatula and a frying pan in my chubby little fingers. When I was a kid I would come home from school and watch Julia Childs. While other kids watched cartoons, I was tuning in to The Galloping Gourmet, Yan Can Cook and Too Hot Tamales. You can imagine my delight when they came out with the Food Network. They are great, aren’t they?
I loved pretending I was on a cooking show and I was teaching millions of home viewers how to boil pasta and make sauce. The extent of our spice rack and the items in our pantry did leave something to be desired. My sauces consisted mostly of Country Crock Margarine, Dried Italian seasoning and if I was lucky, milk. I spent hours trying to perfect a technique I learned on The Frugal Gourmet. Have you ever tried to poach an egg in boiling water. It’s hard. Along with being a child chef, I was also a latch key kid, which means I was home alone with my sister Rachel, a lot. In this particular instance she was maybe 13, which means I was 9, maybe 10. I was bored. BORED, ok? I read once that when you are bored it simply means there is a need that you have that isn’t being met, and you should identify that need and meet it. I have a need to cook, ok? So here I am. Little 10 year old Bekah, bored out of my mind. What to do while sister Rachel plays in mom’s make up and clothes?? I’ll cook something, is what I thought. I opened the freezer to see what we had to cook up. We had ice, Drumstick Ice Cream Novelties and a very old, frost-bitten semi bag of shoestring fries. Don’t worry, they weren’t Ore Ida, they weren’t even the crinkle cut ones, or the waffle ones. This was before waffle fries hit the scene. So I have a bag of fries to cook. I also have the frying pan I was born with and some oil in which to fry delicious fries. So I turn on the burner, yes gas stove, and put the pan on it and oil in the pan. This was a standard size frying pan, and I put maybe a 5 second pour of vegetable oil in the pan. I was beyond measuring things. Have been for along time now. So I’m waiting for the pan to get hot and I couldn’t remember how to tell when oil is hot enough to fry things in it. Now don’t be silly, I read the directions on the back of the bag. It said a couple of things about frying in oil, like heat it to a certain temperature and then something, something, something, blah, blibbity blah. I heard on one of my cooking shows to see if a pan is hot enough you just flick some water in it and if the water quickly boils, or ’dances’ then your pan is ready. Ready for what, exactly? I have a philosophy when I cook, and in a lot of things in my life: More is Better. Abundance, its actually a core value. You can never have enough_________ fill in the blank. So the more heat, the better. The more oil, the better. The more butter, the better. The more sour cream, the better. The same is true for cheese, cilantro and many, many more things. So like the inexperienced chef I was, I flicked some, ok a lot of water into a smoking hot pan of oil. Does any one want to take a guess about what happened next? Within seconds the oil and water began to pop and spark. SPARK??? I had no idea what was happening and I figured if I just backed away, it would all be over soon. I was very, very wrong. The popping sparks soon turned into a huge pan fire. A very loud, hot pan fire. I screamed for Rachel. She heard my desperate screams and came running to the kitchen to see what all the commotion was about and saw it. The flames were shooting up from the pan! Rachel is so cool in a crisis. She immediately called me a fool, gave me ‘2 for flinching’ and put flour over the flames. She had learned in Home Ec that week, if you can believe it, to cover grease fires. Now, I need to paint this picture of frantic fire extinguishing properly. I like the word frantic, screaming comes to mind, lots of jumping up and down, slamming things around and general chaos. There was nothing calm, cool or collected about they way either of us reacted. Looking back it was hilarious. After Rachel put the fire out she instructed me to clean up the mess. Naturally, I mean, she saved both our lives. I happily cleaned up the kitchen amidst sobs and aftershocks of terror.
The next matter on the list.
1. Start grease fire…check.
2. Put out grease fire…check.
3. Clean up flour mess from said grease fire…check, check.
4. Tell Mom you almost burned the house down……
There are a few situation when your stomach immediately drops to your descending colon. This is one. Having the arduous task of telling your Mom you almost burned the house down. Some other ones are actually burning the house down, and calling the bank to get your balance and you are over $200 over-drawn.
I feel like we called her at work. Let me give you some advice, when you almost burn the house down, don’t tell your Mom while she’s still at work. Don’t tell your Mom anything while she’s at work. She was, needless to say, upset and I was gonna get it when she got home. My sister and I get our calm, thoughtful nature from our Mother. The word overreact comes to mind. But this is why I love my Mother. Yes, she was very upset with me that I set her kitchen on fire. She was very upset that I was playing with the stove. She was also very upset that I could have been hurt. On the other hand she did something very special for me that day. After all of the commotion she wasn’t going to tell my Step-Father what I had done. We cleaned up all of the evidence and he was none the wiser. He actually died and he never ever found out I set his house on fire.
My mom was always doing things like this. My Step Dad wasn’t physically abusive by any means, but he was mean. She was protecting me from harm, which I deeply appreciate. She knew that the fear of almost burning the house down and the trauma of almost setting myself on fire was consequence enough. My mom is a smart lady. It was her birthday yesterday and I want her to know how much I appreciate her. Things could have been a lot worse that day, and everyday before that, and everyday after. I am thankful for her and all that she has taught me, shown me, protected me from and put me through. I am who I am today because my Mom. I like it and I like her. Thank You, Mom for everything.
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